Homesick Hearts
by binaryguppy
Summary: Johanna and Dajan understand each other like no one else can. The chemistry between them is instant and undeniable, but both are keeping secrets that could ruin their budding relationship. Nathaniel, her neighbor and confidant, leaves Sweet Amoris for college at the end of the summer, only to yearn to be home...in Johanna's loving arms. Indirect spinoff of "Sand, Sugar, and Salt.
1. Chapter 1

**First Impressions**

I was startled awake when I realized the room was full of light.

What time is it? How late did I sleep?

It took me a second to remember where I was: the upstairs bedroom of my family's new house in a little town called Sweet Amoris.

My blue gingham quilt was in a tangled mess around my legs. I must have been tossing and turning in my sleep like I did when I had vivid nightmares. Foggy recollections of the dreams only slipped further away the harder I tried to remember, so I let them go.

Today was supposed to be another obnoxiously beautiful day just like yesterday: the sky a cloudless robin's egg blue, the air smelling sweetly of the blue hydrangeas that grew in sprawling bushes all over the adorable coastal town. The brilliant summer sun stung my sleep-encrusted eyes as I stretched and trudged to the window. Mom suggested I leave it open overnight to air out the stuffy bedroom since the house had been vacant for years. I expected to see the treetops of the quiet wooded park beyond the backyard; I chose this room specifically for its view.

But the view I saw instead was a thousand times better.

His golden brown eyes surveyed me through a layer of blond bangs. His whole body glistened in the sun, beads of sweat rolling down his bare chest. His mouth hung open as though frozen mid-gasp. I wanted to think it was because he was as fascinated by me as I was by him, but more likely it was because I scared him. He teetered on unsteady feet and came dangerously close to falling before he regained his balance.

Why _was_ this boy on the roof? He stood on the hot shingles that sloped down just under my second-story window, above where the screened-in porch jutted into the overgrown backyard. I could think of no reason for him to be there.

His jaw creaked open wider, and he offered an uncertain _hi_, his eyes fixated on mine.

Neither of us knew what to do next.

So I did what comes naturally to me whenever I get scared. I ran to tell my Daddy.

Well, I didn't 'run' so much as 'slowly backed away.' I didn't want to freak him out any more than I already had.

I found Dad downstairs sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, blowing on a mug of strong-smelling black coffee. I shook his shoulder urgently, sloshing his coffee. **Um, Daddy? There's a _boy_ outside my window.**

He was as confused as I was as he set the cup down on the countertop. **A _boy_?** he repeated.

**Yes.** A few strands of flyaway hair wandered into my blinking eyes and got caught in my eyelashes; I didn't bother to bat them away. **He's on the roof.**

Dad's shiny forehead furrowed the way it did when he was trying to think. **Why's there a _boy_ on the roof?**

I threw my head back and rolled my eyes. **I don't _know_, Dad! That's why I'm _asking_ you!**

**Cool it with the attitude, Jo,** he said, nipping the fingertips of one hand closed in a 'shut it' motion. He thought for a second, then suddenly remembered. **Oh, I bet that's the neighbor kid. Your mother is paying him to clean out the gutters on the back side of the house.**

**Gee, _that_ would have been nice to know before I walked right in front of the window! He _saw_ me—looking like _this_!** I motioned my (sort of slutty) summer pajamas: cotton shorts with little strawberries on them and a not-very-supportive spaghetti strap top.

Dad didn't seem too concerned. I was always quick to fly off the handle, but he was the voice of reason. **Your mother wanted to let you sleep. She knows you're tired from the move.**

I was annoyed at Mom for not waking me up earlier. At the very least, she could have _told_ me about the neighbor boy—or, better yet, _closed_ my window so that he couldn't see into my room. Then again, I was secretly relieved she hadn't asked _me_ to climb out onto the roof and clean the gutters.

Mom must have met these well-meaning neighbors earlier today and took the blond boy up on a half-hearted offer to help fix up the house. Or maybe he had been forced into it by his own mother; other moms were always making their kids do stuff for us, even back home. We must have given the people in this neighborhood the impression that we were especially needy. I doubted there was another family like ours in the whole town.

Dad might have still been talking to me, perhaps telling me to get to work on one of the trillion chores there were to do, but I stopped paying attention. I walked around the kitchen island and took two cold bottles of water out of the otherwise empty fridge and went back upstairs to my room. I just hoped he would still be there.

All of my things were in cardboard boxes stacked against the wall opposite my bed. I opened the one the movers had labeled "girl's bedroom, desk" and fished out a pen and a blank composition notebook. I turned to the first page and wrote a note for the mysterious boy on the roof.

"You look hot," is what I was going to go with at first. But I tore out that page, angrily smashed it into a ball, and threw it into the corner. I absolutely could not show him that. That could have been very easily misconstrued.

The second time around, I was more specific: "It looks like it's hot out there. You must be thirsty." There. Much better.

The neighbor boy must have heard me crinkling up my first draft and came back into view in the window frame. The look of mild curiosity on his face quickly changed to one of pleasant surprise when I crossed the room to meet him, holding out a frosty bottle of water. His shy smile made my heart flutter. He must have been popular with _the ladies_ at his school. How could he _not_ be popular, with a body like his? The thought made me scrunch my face into a smile, too.

Neighbor Boy gratefully accepted the water, pulling off his gunky gardening gloves to twist the cap open. He tilted his head back and poured almost a third of it down his parched throat. A few cold trickles slipped out of the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his neck, mingling with his sweat.

I made sure to maintain a poker face, resisting the urge to lick my lips. I clutched my own unopened bottle of water and held perfectly still.

_Thank you_, he breathed as he swallowed.

I just sort of stood there for a second, blatantly staring at him, until I remembered the notebook I held to my chest. I held it out to him so he could see it.

He wiped the sweat out his eyes and read it. He smiled a gorgeous white smile and agreed that yes, it was hot out here.

"I'm sorry about before," I wrote under my opening line. "No one told me there would be a boy on the roof outside my window." An unbelievably _fine_ boy, I might add.

He laughed. He was sorry, too. He didn't mean to scare me. His eyes shifted from the words on the notebook up to my face and lingered there. He seemed to be studying it. Studying _me_.

I instantly regretted not washing my face. Or brushing my teeth. Or combing my hair. I probably looked like I just rolled out of bed—because I had, in fact, just rolled out of bed.

He tilted his head. _You can't talk?_ he asked, his hand absentmindedly touching his throat.

"I can, sort of," I wrote in response, "but I almost never do. I don't sound right."

_You don't...sound right?_ he repeated, his face screwing up with confusion. I saw the words _Virginia_ and _accent_ on his lips. His moist bangs swayed as he gently shook his head. _I wouldn't make fun of you_, he assured me.

Aw, how cute! Mom must have told him where we moved from; he thinks I'm too shy to talk because of an embarrassing Southern accent.

In that case, he was half right. I was sure my accent _was_ embarrassing, but I had no way of knowing one way or another if it sounded especially 'Southern.'

If I wasn't careful, I was going to fall hard for this boy. He was definitely cute—and nice, for agreeing to clean a handicapped stranger's gutters—but he was a little slow on the uptake. He still hadn't figured it out.

"No," I wrote, "It's not that. I'm deaf."

This was the part I'd been dreading. Usually, when 'regular' people found out I was deaf, they wore a mixture of pity and guilt on their faces, and from that moment on I became part of the scenery—to them, just another warm body, not really able to contribute or be fully included.

But not Neighbor Boy. When he read the note, there was not a trace of pity, not one iota of guilt. There was curiosity, maybe even excitement, and something else I couldn't think of a word for. It was a tiny nod—like how you would nod when accepting a challenge.

He asked with his eyes to take the notebook from me. I obliged, handing him the pen, too.

His sweat seeped into the paper where his wrist touched it. "My name is Nathaniel," he wrote in small, bleeding letters over the smudge. "I never asked you yours. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Johanna," I scrawled, showing off with a slightly more elaborate cursive 'J' than usual. "And I don't think you're rude. Not at all."

_Johanna_, he said out loud.

I liked the way my name looked on his face when he said it.

He smiled his boyish smile and bashfully looked away when it was his turn to write. "Would it be alright if I asked for your number so I can text you?"

Sweet Amoris was officially the best town _ever_. I'd been in it less than twenty-four hours, and I already had boys clamoring onto my roof to ask for my phone number.

I wrote out my number in the corner and tore it off so he could take it with him. He raised an eyebrow at the odd-looking Virginia area code before slipping it into the pocket of his athletic shorts.

"I guess I'll leave you alone now," I wrote reluctantly, "so you can finish whatever my Mom is making you do."

"I've been done for a while," he admitted, turning the page over to write a reply. "I was just up here admiring the view. _I'm_ the one who should leave _you_ alone."

Was he admiring the view of the park...or me?

The familiar giddiness that came with the onset of a crush crept its way into the cracks of my broken heart. Nathaniel needed to get away from me fast, before I got us both into serious trouble.

I couldn't afford to get myself into this kind of trouble. Not this soon.

… But maybe trouble with Nathaniel would be different.

**Goodbye**, I waved, smiling ear-to-ear.

I watched as he descended the ladder that leaned against the porch below. **Goodbye**, he waved back just before he disappeared, probably not even realizing he already knew a word in sign language.

I left the window open all morning, just in case he wanted to come back and 'admire the view' some more.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Good Excuse**

"Hi Johanna. This is Nathaniel. I live two doors down. We met the other day. You know…when I was on your roof."

Like I could forget. Yes, Neighbor Boy Nathaniel, I know who you are—and I've been secretly dying for you to text me.

Maybe I should wait a few minutes before responding, I thought. That way I won't seem…desperate.

But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him. And I _am_ sort of desperate.

It felt like I hadn't left the house for days, since all I ever did was run errands with either Mom or Dad. The most fun thing I'd done so far was help Dad choose wall colors for the living and dining rooms from among hundreds of neutral paint swatches. (I know. Super exciting.)

I couldn't stand to wait any longer.

Forget it. I'm texting him back now.

But what should I say?

Nothing complicated, I coached myself. Keep it simple. Just something like "Hey, Nathaniel!" should get the job done.

…Is the exclamation point too much? Should I stick with a more impartial period?

Before I could make a decision, my phone vibrated when Nathaniel sent a second text. "There's not much to see, but I could show you around Sweet Amoris if you're free this afternoon."

Yes! Nathaniel was an absolute godsend. "I'm free," I responded immediately. "I need a good excuse to get out of this house. We've been painting all day, and my arms are getting tired."

"Sounds good. What time works best for you?" I was trying to calculate how fast I could clean the paint from under my fingernails when Nathaniel texted yet again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't know what I was thinking."

He didn't…mean it? He doesn't want to 'show me around town' after all? Was his last text meant for someone else? Had he sent it to me by accident? I _thought_ I'd gotten my hopes up way too high way too fast…

But then I realized what he said. He said '_sounds_ good.'

I started laughing like an idiot, overcome with relief. Poor Nathaniel was trying way too hard! "You don't have to be sorry! I understood what you meant." I ended the message with a reassuring smiley face.

"Thanks," came his reply seconds later. "I really am sorry. Want me to come by around five?"

I cringed and looked up from my cell phone. Before I could tell Nathaniel yes, I had to get Dad on board.

Dad noticed I'd abandoned my roller brush in its wet paint tray on the old bedsheet we were using as a drop cloth. He looked over his shoulder at me with raised eyebrows; he evidently thought I'd been standing around texting (and therefore not helping him paint the last living room wall) for entirely too long.

**Daddy, can I go out?** I asked.

He set his own brush down next to mine**. Out?** He counter-asked suspiciously. **Where? With whom? And when will you be back?**

Ugh. The Three Questions. I was never allowed to go anywhere until I'd given satisfactory answers to the Three Questions. And this time around, I figured I'd better be honest. **Around town**, I said carefully. **With the neighbor kid. And…nine, maybe ten at the very latest?** Sweet Amoris was small, and Nathaniel said himself that there wasn't much to see. I honestly didn't think I'd be gone for five hours, but I wanted to allow for extra time—just in case he wanted to show me something…off the beaten path.

**Where is _around town_, exactly?** Dad interrogated me, still not fully convinced.

**I don't know yet, do I? I pretty much haven't left this house since we got here!**

**What did I say about that attitude, Jo?** Dad snipped. Even though he was annoyed, I could tell he thought I made a valid point. He had to let me do _some_thing _some_time, or I'd go insane. **Is this the same neighbor kid from yesterday? From the roof?**

**Yes. His name is N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L. He lives two doors down.** I hoped giving Dad more details would make him comfortable enough to give in and say yes.

He sighed. **It's okay with me if it's okay with your mother. But you have to agree to come home when she tells you, and not a minute later.**

**Thanks, Dadddy!** I stood on my tiptoes to peck him on the cheek.

**Not. One. Minute. Later**, he repeated. **Or there will be consequences.** He resumed painting, slowly and ominously rolling the brush up and down over the bare wall.**  
**

It was a start; a green light from Dad was like a half-yes. I zoomed across the drop cloths in my bare feet to go find Mom.

I was lucky to catch her just as she was headed out the door, her cell phone tucked in the crook of her neck. She saw me approaching and ended her conversation with whoever was on the other line with an _okay, thank you, bye_. **Hey, Kiddo**, she signed once her hands were free. **Are you and Dad finished painting the living room yet?**

**Almost.** I thought it best to take a casual approach. **I was actually wondering if I could take a break from painting for a little bit.**

She nodded understandingly.** I'm going to the hardware store to get new light switch plates.** She could think of no sign for 'light switch plates'; she showed me what she meant by tapping the one on the wall beside her with her fingernail.** Want to come with me?**

**As fun as ****_that _****sounds**, I said with a sarcastic scowl on my face,** I was thinking of taking a walk around town—you know, to see what there is to see.** When I presented it that way, the idea was not unreasonable.

**Sure you can**, she agreed.** Are you taking Dad with you? He might want to snap some pictures.**

Yeah, that's _just_ what I needed: to be followed around by my goofy Dad while he took artful pictures of the hydrangea bushes with a needlessly long zoom lens. He and Mom were both photographers. They chose Sweet Amoris because it seemed like the ideal place to open their own studio like they'd always dreamed.

**Well, no, I wasn't going to go with Dad.** Delivery of the next line was crucial. I tried my best at sincerity with a hint of shyness, tilting my head down and looking at Mom through my eyelashes. **I was going to go with N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L…if it's okay with you.**

Thankfully, her reaction wasn't as hesitant as Dad's had been.** I thought it would be at least a month before you started collecting boyfriends again**, she teased.

**Mother! If I remember correctly, ****_you're _****the one who sent him up to the roof outside my window**, I reminded her. It was her own fault. She might as well have gift-wrapped him for me!

Her chuckle spread into a wider laugh. **Well, since I've met this boy and I think he seems nice—and I know****_ his mom _****and I know****_ where he lives_**, she emphasized, **I suppose it's okay with me as long as it's okay with your fath—**

**Yeah, yeah, Dad already said it was fine**, I signed frantically as I backed away. **Bye! See you later! Love you!**

Mom tisked and shook her head, looping her arm through the handles of her purse as she lurched through the door.

I bounded up the stairs two at a time as I dug my cell phone out of my pocket to respond to Nathaniel's last text. "_Sounds_ good to me," I goaded him. "See you at five."

"See you then," he acknowledged.

I was left with plenty of time to change out of my paint-splattered clothes and clean myself up. I wanted Nathaniel to see what I was supposed to look like when I was wide awake, clean, and properly clothed.

As far as looks go, I have a lot going for me—except perhaps my awkward height. I always thought five-nine was too tall for a seventeen-year-old girl. That, and my thousands and thousands of freckles; I have especially large clusters on my shoulders, my cheeks, and my forehead. I wish they would dissipate and leave me with an even, tan complexion, but of course I wouldn't be so lucky. My eyes can't decide if they would rather be brown or green, so I just call them hazel. And my hair can't decide if it would rather be dirty blonde or a light orange-ish red, so I just call it strawberry blonde—at least, that's what Dad calls it, and I've always liked the term.

After grappling with a roller brush most of the day, said strawberry blonde hair was a mess of tangles flecked with Sherwin Williams Curio Gray. It took copious amounts of green apple scented shampoo to finally rid my hair of all the paint and sweat.

Blowing it dry takes forever since it's so thick and I prefer to keep it fairly long. I used this time to mentally prepare myself for my first _non_-accidental encounter with Nathaniel.

I wondered... This isn't really a date…is it?

No, of course not. He's just showing me around. He didn't say we were going out to dinner or a movie or something. _Then_ it would be more like a date.

…Then again, he didn't say _where_ we were going. Maybe this _is_ a date, and I just don't know it yet.

I shook my head at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Johanna, you're delusional. You think every boy who so much as looks at you wants to take you out. You let your imagination get the best of you.

Now for the hard part: finding something to wear.

I've never been a girly-girl. I didn't even own a skirt. Cute, frilly things looked weird on such a tall, lanky girl, so I opt for a sportier clothes for my wardrobe. I had a pair of hip-hugging capris in mind for my afternoon with Nathaniel, but the still-unpacked box they were in was at the bottom of a precarious stack, so I had to work with whatever I could scavenge from the boxes on top. I ended up in a pair of dark denim shorts, a solid tangerine-colored tank top, and slip-on Vans—nothing too elaborate. I slipped the handle of my clutch wallet over my wrist, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and headed for the door—until I remembered Nathaniel couldn't sign, so I grabbed the composition notebook and pen from where they still rested on the windowsill.

Another glance in the mirror on my way out made me second-guess myself. Were the shorts _too_ short? The pajama bottoms Nathaniel had already seen me in were shorter, but still. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression.

Boys don't care about crap like that, I told myself as I stomped down the stairs. It wasn't like he would turn me away if I didn't pick the right _outfit_.

There was already a male figure on the other side of the tempered glass of the front door; Nathaniel had arrived a few minutes early. It looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to ring the doorbell, knowing I wouldn't be able to hear it. He was relieved to see me pull the door open. At least, the smile on his face looked relieved. And shy. And allover adorable.

Nathaniel cleaned up nice, even if he was just wearing casual summer clothes: knee-length khaki shorts with holey cargo pockets, a navy blue t-shirt, and athletic sneakers. My instincts about the walk around town not being a big deal must have been dead on.

His eyes strayed from my face, all the way down to my shoes, then back up. It was so subtle, he probably didn't even realize he was doing it.

Oh yes. He just checked me out.

Any remaining doubts about the shorts I'd chosen to wear suddenly vanished.

**Hey**, I waved, returning his smile.

**Hey**, he waved back.

**Come in for a minute?** I suggested, inviting him in with a tilt of my head.

Nathaniel hesitantly followed behind me as I led him to the living room where Dad was finishing painting. He still didn't see us in his periphery; I had to tug at his arm to get his attention. **Dad! This is N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L. He came in to introduce himself.** Whether he wanted to or not.

Dad reached for Nathaniel's hand and gave it a firm, fatherly shake and a friendly smile. From my point of view, the handshake seemed _too_ firm, the smile _too_ forced. To me, at least, it was obvious Dad still had reservations.

Nathaniel made an attempt at what was probably polite chatter, but Dad wasn't wearing his glasses, and I knew he wouldn't be able to make out what he was saying.

I tapped Nathaniel's shoulder. **He's deaf, too**. I held an upright index finger to my lips then to my ear.

Nathaniel nodded apologetically at both Dad and me.

**You said no later than ten, right, Jo?** Dad signed to me as though Nathaniel wasn't even there.

**I'll be back sooner than that if he's no fun**, I answered, hoping he would appreciate the joke.

**Okay, get out of here.** He shooed us away, cracking a genuine smile. **I think I've scared him enough. I love you! Be careful!**

Dad must have caught on to how uncomfortable Nathaniel was, too. I never considered Dad to be an intimidating man, even though he was six-two—but Nathaniel certainly did, for reasons that probably had nothing to do with his height.

I thought we would be going wherever we were going on foot, but Nathaniel had a GMC truck parked on the street at the end of our front walk. He even stepped in front of me to pull open the passenger door before I could reach for it myself.

I scrunched my face into a giggly smile. Maybe this _was_ a date.

"What's the first stop on the official tour?" I scribbled quickly while he fumbled with his seatbelt.

"How do you feel about carnivals?" he wrote back.

"There's a carnival in town?" What were we doing sitting here parked outside my house? Why weren't we there right now? "I love carnivals!" I rarely ever went to carnivals because Dad hated them as much as I loved them. I think he was distrustful of carnival barkers, even though he couldn't hear them. Something about being yelled at by strangers made him feel uneasy.

As Nathaniel started the truck, vibrations shot through the seat beneath me. He drove us out of the subdivision of brick houses, beyond the shopping center I'd been to a few times, and into a part of the town I hadn't seen yet. He maneuvered the truck around a fussily landscaped roundabout and slowed down to pull into the parking lot of a bank that had already closed for the night. He pointed out the window on my side.

The carnival was set up in the courtyard of the high school—a tall, white building with a roofed gymnasium addition. There were already several clusters of people playing the midway games—kids, mostly, who looked to be high school-aged. Even inside the truck, I could detect the faint sweet-and-salty smells of popcorn and funnel cake. The red, white, and blue bulbs that lined the metallic skeletons of the larger rides all blinked on at once, making the whole thing come to life in the lazily dimming evening light.

**Thank you**, I signed, turning back to him. For making my day, I meant. For reaching out to me. For being so nice.

He must have thought I'd blown him a kiss; admittedly, the way I signed 'thank you' did sort of look like blowing a kiss. Confused, he reached out and caught the alleged kiss midair.

"That was a 'thank you,' not a kiss," I clarified on paper.

Nathaniel smacked himself in the forehead with the composition notebook. _I'm such an idiot_, said his wincing lips.

It would be hard to control myself if Nathaniel was going to be this unbearably cute the whole time. He might end up getting a kiss after all—a real one.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm glad to see everyone responding so positively to Johanna and the new story in general. I can understand if it's harder to read than my last one, since I went and changed some rules on you, but I hope I can clear up some confusion!

**Bold text is sign language.** I guess I should say ASL since I specified that Johanna is from Virginia.

_Text in italics is Johanna's interpretation of spoken words_—and she doesn't always get it right! Pretty much, it's what she _thinks_ other characters are saying out loud. (I'll still italicize the occasional word for emphasis like in the sentence before, but I'm trying to get away from doing that _too_ much. There, see? I just did it again…)

"Text in quotation marks is that which Johanna reads or writes—text messages, handwritten notes, instant messaging, etc."

Johanna's unspoken thoughts are mixed in with the rest of the narrative—sometimes in the present tense, sometimes in the past tense. I usually set thoughts apart by putting them in italics, but I wanted to stick with using italics for spoken words.

I hope this helps, and I'm sorry again if it's confusing! Let me know if this next chapter is easier to read.

I'm going to take a page out of erinyoukai's book and give personal to shoutouts to Exactlyamanda, Kopland, ZorraVixen, Alice, OceanTide, CoreoftheCookie, an anonymous reviewer, 4ever205—and of course erinyoukai. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and offering ideas and advice! ~binaryguppy

* * *

**Too Sweet**

There was no ticket booth, no admission fee. I just strode in beside Nathaniel like I belonged there—like everyone else there seemed to belong.

I'd guessed right when I assumed Nathaniel was popular. He knew each and every one of the high school kids who passed us by, all of them smiling at him and joking with him. _Who's this?_ they'd ask him when they noticed me standing there, fussing with the corner of my composition notebook with my thumb.

Nathaniel would answer something like _this is Johanna, she just moved here_ or _this is Johanna, my new neighbor_—not _this is Johanna, she's deaf_. I was given handshakes and smiles and nods of the head—not unsure glances or wide-eyed stares.

"What's the occasion?" I scribbled on a new page of the notebook. "Does this school always have a carnival?"

He took up the pen and tried to write and walk at the same time. "The PTA threw our graduating class a carnival because almost all 120 of us are going to college. I think it's supposed to be like an after-afterprom party."

120? That's _it_? No wonder he knows everyone here!

Oh, and it never even occurred to me to ask Nathaniel how old he was. "You're eighteen?"

"Yeah, I just graduated last month. How old are you?"

"I'll turn eighteen in July," I answered. Not legal _just_ yet, Handsome.

We had to stop in between two midway kiosks; clearly writing while walking wasn't going to work. I offered him my back as a hard surface. While Nathaniel wrote, I watched a girl with jet black hair and too much makeup try to pop under-inflated balloons with a handful of dull darts while her boyfriend hovered over her shoulder and tried to guide her throws. I wondered briefly if my and Nathaniel's behavior looked as affectionate as theirs.

Nathaniel handed me the notebook over my shoulder so I could read his response. "My sister is your age. She'll be a senior next year, same as you."

Oh. He must have thought I was going to this high school. "I've only ever been to deaf schools," I wrote when he turned to let me use his back. "Mom thought it would be best to homeschool me, since I only have one year left."

"I was kind of worried about you going to school here, anyway," he wrote. "None of the teachers know sign language, and there are no other deaf students. Homeschool is probably the best option."

He was kind of _worried_ about me? Did I come across as a helpless little girl, like a second little sister? That wasn't at all what I wanted Nathaniel to think of me.

I brushed off my annoyance and switched the focus of the conversation from me to him. "What about you? What are you doing now that you've graduated? College?"

"I'm going to Indiana for pre-law. I'm leaving in August."

So he was leaving in two months to live a thousand miles away and stay there for four years. This might have been useful information to know _before_ I developed an instant crush on him.

I guess whatever fun we had would be confined to this summer—and once he started school, all bets were off.

"You're going to be a lawyer?" I wrote, forcing my face to look impressed rather than disappointed.

"I'm supposed to be," he scrawled back unenthusiastically, his handwriting wandering off the light blue lines. It was all his dad's idea, not his, he insisted. He liked crime shows and mystery novels, but he wasn't sure about how he would hold up in a real-life courtroom.

There was no joy in Nathaniel's eyes when he wrote out the plans that had been made for him. In fact, he looked more depressed the more I pried.

Nice going, Johanna. You're at a carnival with a boy who is _easily_ a nine or nine point five out of ten, and you're depressing him.

I looked around, trying to think of a distraction.

"Lemon shakeups!" I doodled in the margin. I was starting to get thirsty.

Nathaniel smiled at the randomness of my comment, and seemed to appreciate the subject change. "I'll get you one if you want."

I shook my head dismissively and dug around in my wallet for the appropriate amount.

He gently pushed my hand down, his lips forming the words _no, I insist_. "I still owe you for scaring you the other day," he elaborated on the notebook.

Fair enough. I guess I'd let him buy me something, if it made him feel better.

We momentarily retired the note-writing routine while we waited in line at the concessions stand. Laden with food and drinks, we found an out-of-the-way part of the courtyard to settle in the smashed-flat grass and eat.

The pink-orange strawberry lemon shakeup I ended up with was thick and pulpy, crunchy with strawberry seeds, and refreshingly cold. I sheepishly offered Nathaniel a taste before I drank too much of it.

He didn't take the plastic cup from me. He slurped from the edge of the almost-overflowing cup while I still held it in my hands. _Ugh!_ His face twisted into a grimace. _Too sweet_.

Too _sweet_? Did I read that correctly? The one I was drinking/eating was turn-your-face-inside-out sour, even in spite of the strawberry syrup and mixed-in sugar. He must not have had much of a sweet tooth, judging from the way he licked the salt from the soft pretzel he got for himself. He tore away part of it and handed it to me. I accepted and unabashedly sucked on the part that he'd touched with his fingers.

I didn't even know his last name, and he already had me quite literally eating out of his hand.

The carnival gradually got more crowded as the sky softened into a yellow sunset. Nathaniel looked over at me when I heaved a heavy sigh and caught me staring at him. Again. _Having fun yet?_ he asked, swallowing the last bite of pretzel. At least, I think that's what he said. It was hard to tell, since his mouth was full.

Whatever he said, I agreed with, nodding enthusiastically. I ran my tongue across my teeth to rid the spaces between of latent strawberry seeds.

"Now what?" he asked, resorting to the notebook again.

**Ferris wheel?** I suggested lamely, assuming he would figure out what the sign meant. One hand stayed still while the other traveled around it, as though turning a tiny imaginary wheel.

I assumed wrong. "You want to…watch a movie?" he scribbled.

I couldn't resist laughing at the look on his face. "No, that meant 'Ferris wheel.'"

_Oh_, he sighed through his laughter.

Our laughter only grew when we got closer to said Ferris wheel. The cars were much smaller than they looked from far away and were probably meant for children. Nathaniel was about the same height as me; he might have even been an inch shorter than me without his shoes. I wondered if both of us would even fit in the same car. Nathaniel watched me make a fool of myself as I wedged into the swinging metal car first, and he mashed himself in next to me, his hipbone digging into mine. The hairy-armed attendant lowered the safety bar over our laps and with a labored jolt, the wheel resumed its slow turning.

As we neared the top, there was another jolt when the attendant stopped the ride to let someone off, making our car swing from its clunky metal hinge.

Trying to awkwardly communicate with a hearing boy was way more fun on a Ferris wheel. Our close proximity was one thing, but then there was the view. Sweet Amoris really was obnoxiously beautiful. From thirty feet up, we could see the whole town stretched out in front of us—even the sparkling ocean in the distance behind a hazy line of evergreen tress.

I didn't even notice at first when ten, fifteen, twenty minutes rolled by, and we still hadn't moved. When I glanced down at the carnie operating the ride, he was bent over the non-functioning generator, trying to get it to start again.

Super. We were stuck.

…But was being stuck in a tiny carnival ride with Nathaniel really so bad? I didn't even pretend to think so.

"Looks like we'll be here for a while," wrote Nathaniel, leaning the now bent and crinkled notebook against the lap bar.

"Good," I wrote back sideways since my right hand was at an odd angle.

I was starting to think I was a secret genius for getting us into this situation in the first place. He seemed as content as I was to stay like this the whole night.

Being so close together made looking at each other difficult, so we watched the scene below. It was like a _Where's Waldo?_ illustration of activity. Over at the guess-your-weight kiosk, a bratty-looking blonde girl got insulted when the barker pegged her at 137—which I thought was pretty accurate. A tall, busty, long-legged girl in a short white dress was chatting up everyone she saw and taking arm-length self portraits with her digital camera.

One couple in particular caught my eye. I noticed Nathaniel was watching them, too. They stood out like sore thumbs among the other high schoolers. The boy was covered in tattoos, as tan and tall as his girlfriend was petite and ghostly white. They must have been swimming; their shirts clung to still-wet skin and their hair was in wavy tangles. They pulled apart a freshly spun cloud of pink cotton candy and fed the pieces to each other, oblivious to whatever else was happening around them. The boy reached over with his free hand and curled a finger around the back belt loop of her shorts, pulling her in to kiss her forehead with what were probably sticky lips.

As Nathaniel watched the scene play out, he wore a strange, grimacing half-smile that broke into a bizarre little laugh.

I wrote my thoughts down on the notebook to show Nathaniel. "Those two seem…close."

"That's Candace and Dakota," he explained. "It's impossible to pry those two apart. Trust me, I've tried. And I ended up with a concussion."

I'd concuss you, too, if you tried to pry me away from _that_, I thought, watching Dakota's muscles ripple. Candace's boyfriend might have been taken, but his sublimity was still undeniable and overwhelming, and I couldn't help but..._appreciate_ him. The thoughts that sprang into my mind made me bite the knuckle of my index finger and take a sharp breath in through my teeth.

Nathaniel saw my moment of weakness and laughed, rolling his eyes. The two of us watched as Candace licked a tuft of cotton candy from Dakota's fingers and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth as the sugar dissolved.

Ooh! I have an idea!

"You know what you should do?" I wrote excitedly. "You should send her a creepy 'I'm watching you' text."

_No_, he laughed, shaking his head.

"Do it!" I egged him on—and sharply poked him in the ribs.

He muttered something in protest, but wore a telltale smile as he dug his phone out of his shorts, pressing his body closer to mine in the process. "You'll rot his teeth with all that Candy," he typed, tilting the screed towards me so I could see it.

Now _that_ is a creepy text, I told him with my wide eyes.

We giggled as we watched an unsuspecting Candace pull her own phone out of her pocket. She held the phone up to Dakota's face and had him read it to her—then she and Dakota both laugh-gasped and looked in all directions.

"Up here," Nathaniel texted again.

Dakota was first to see us, and returned Nathaniel's wave.

Candace cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled something up to us.

Nathaniel shook his head. _I can't hear her_, he muttered.

"You, neither?" I scribbled. "I thought it was just me."

Nathaniel guffawed, rocking the car back and fourth. Hanging around a hearing boy who ate up all my lame deaf jokes was a huge ego boost.

Candace texted Nathaniel back when she realized he couldn't hear her. He showed me her reply: "Is that Amber with you? Did she dye her hair again? And why is she taking notes?"

Who's Amber?

"No, it's not Amber!" Nathaniel texted back. "You need your glasses. This is Johanna. Her family just moved into Castiel's old house."

Who's Castiel?

"Still showing the new girls around even after graduation, Mr. Perfect?" read Candace's next text. Dakota leaned down to whisper something in her ear and plant a soft kiss in her wet red hair. She looked back up at him adoringly and nodded. They must have been making plans to go do something else—away from Nathaniel's and my watchful eyes. "Come find us when you get down from there. We can do that slingshot water balloon fight thing! Girls versus boys!"

"Maybe," he answered. "_If_ we ever get down from here, you mean. See you around."

**Bye**, I waved to Candace.

"See ya," she texted Nathaniel. "Oh, and Mel is looking for you. Have you talked to her yet? About Indiana?"

Nathaniel closed out of her message without answering, his smile hardening into a straight-lipped scowl.

No, Nathaniel had not talked to Mel yet—and he didn't want to.

What was Mel sort for? Melissa? Melanie?

Was she his girlfriend? His ex-girlfriend?

And for that matter, who was _Amber_?

Was I a rebound girl? Did he bring me here specifically to make them jealous? I had only just met him, but I didn't think Nathaniel was capable of being that petty.

I decided I would look the other way, trusting Nathaniel until he gave me a better reason not to.

I needed so badly to trust someone. I wanted Nathaniel to be that someone.

Down below, Candace shrugged her shoulders and sighed, twisting her fingers around Dakota's and following him into the now dense crowd of people.

Now that Nathaniel and I were more or less alone again, we sat without passing notes as evening light receded. I could tell his thoughts were heavy from the way he avoided my eyes.

I was trying to think of some way to cheer him up, but suddenly a smile reappeared on his face. He turned his body around to look beneath him, his hips digging into mine again. The ride operator must have been trying to get his attention. Nathaniel fumbled with the pen and notebook, transcribing what he heard. "He said, 'You kids are being too quiet up there, and I don't like it.'"

I beamed and snatched the pen out of his hand. "What, does he want us to start making noise? Would _that_ make him feel better?"

Nathaniel's light brown lashes squinted closed as he laughed, and his mouth formed my name. _Johanna!_

He reached to grab the pen from me, no doubt to write back something flirtatious, but he accidentally dropped it, and it fell to the ground below.

_Sorry_, he mumbled, barely moving his face. But really, he didn't _look_ that sorry. And I certainly wasn't sorry. There were other ways to communicate besides pen-and-paper, after all. I should know.

His hand hovered just over mine, where it had been when he tried to take the pen. Slowly, as though afraid of scaring me, he brought his hand down to rest it on top of mine—and when I didn't shrink away, he breathed a sigh of relief.

I turned my head to look at him through my hair as the wind blew it in front of my face.

Maybe now was the moment I would gauge Nathaniel's nonverbal communication skills.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wait for Me**

Most of the night I'd been staring at Nathaniel's mouth, trying to read his lips. Now I stared into his eyes, trying to read his mind.

From what I could see, he was every bit as conflicted as I was.

I could think of so many reasons _not_ to do what I was craving. (1) He probably has a girlfriend and/or a bitter ex-girlfriend, and for all I know she's down there in the midway looking up at us right now. (2) I met him only a few days ago, and I know almost nothing about him—not even enough to call him a friend yet. (3) I _do_ know that he's leaving. August might seem like forever away right now, but it will come fast—and when it does, it's going to hurt if I let him get too close. (4) The whole point of Mom, Dad, and me moving was to start over—and I would be making the same mistakes all over again by putting my trust in the wrong person.

But Nathaniel wasn't 'the wrong person.' Absolutely nothing about being around Nathaniel felt wrong. It felt right. If I trusted anyone here, it should be him.

Nathaniel's irises subtly darted back and fourth as they regarded mine, as though literally trying to read me. He broke eye contact only to look lower on my face—down at my lips.

I couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't make the first move soon, I would.

And I was about to—until the generator that turned the Ferris wheel whirred back to life, and a mechanical jerk tore through the tender moment like a splash of cold water.

I whipped my head back around to stare straight ahead, and beside me Nathaniel did the same, his face turning bright pink.

Once we reached the bottom, Nathaniel squirmed out onto the metal platform, and I stumbled out after him, trying to regain control of my unsteady legs. The ride operator said something to Nathaniel that made him blush even redder.

I put on an awkward smile, suddenly giddy and breathless and dizzy. Was being cramped into that tiny seat for too long what's making me feel this way, I wondered, or did it have more to do with Nathaniel?

I had no idea what to do now, and apparently neither did he. He nervously raked his fingers through his hair, and I pushed mine behind my ears to rid it from my eyes as the wind swept through it.

Well, if I wanted to use the notebook to talk to him about this, I'd have to find another writing utensil, since the one he dropped was probably somewhere under the wheel where we wouldn't be able to reach it. From the top of the Ferris wheel, I remembered seeing a midway game that offered pencils as prizes, so I gently touched his arm and motioned for him to follow me, which he did unquestioningly.

The game I had in mind was pretty much just a kiddy pool full of floating rubber ducks, and if you picked a duck with a colored dot on the bottom, you won a prize. It took four ducks (and four dollars), but I eventually won the stupid pencil.

When I turned back to rejoin Nathaniel, he was gone. I looked up and down the midway, searching for him among the bodies, but I couldn't find his blond hair and navy blue shirt.

Hm. Should I text him and ask him where he is?

No, Johanna, you're not six years old. Nathaniel isn't your mommy. You're a big girl now. You can handle being by yourself for a few minutes until he finds you.

Yup. You just hang tight. Just stand there. By yourself. In the middle of a carnival. Full of hearing people.

…Then again, I hated waiting more than almost anything. I hated waiting for Nathaniel to text me all last week. I hated waiting for him to kiss me. I hated waiting here in front of the rubber duck game, getting in the way of all the little brothers and sisters who were also trying to win pencils and Tootsie Roll pops. I wanted to _make_ things happen, not wait around for them to happen.

It wouldn't hurt to make one quick lap around the carnival, right? Maybe some other game distracted him. Or maybe he got pulled aside by one of his friends. He might have even tried to stop me or let me know where he was, but of course I didn't hear him, and he lost me in the crowd.

The sky above was darkening from orange to purple-blue, reminding me that my time was limited, and it was running out.

I backtracked to start at the beginning, at the edge of the courtyard facing the street. The very first kiosk next to the entrance, which wasn't set up when we first came in, was being used to distribute yearbooks to high school students on their way out. I recognized Nathaniel's friends Dakota and Candace; he peered over her shoulder as she flipped through one of the red leather-bound yearbooks, smiling down at the pictures nostalgically.

"I lost Nathaniel. You haven't seen him, have you?" I preemptively wrote with the scratchy lead tip of the pencil across a blank page. I approached Candace, tapping her on the shoulder.

_Oh, hey, Johanna!_ she greeted me warmly when she remembered who I was.

I showed her the note, laying it across the open yearbook she already held.

She squinted at the line of words for a second, then gave up and shook her head.

Without missing a beat, Dakota leaned in closer and read it aloud for her. From up close, I noticed that the bridge of his nose was unnaturally off-center—but rather than take away from his gorgeous exterior, it added character.

I was curious as to how a scarred, tattooed, apparently Australian boy ended up with this tiny, practically blind redheaded girl. They were living proof that opposites really do attract.

I had to quickly go through the rigmarole with Candace before she would write a response. (**Yes** to her _are you deaf?_ **Yes, sort of** to her _can you read lips?_ **No, I prefer to write** to her _can you talk?_)

Once that was over with, I smiled tiredly and pointed to my original question.

She deflated slightly, reluctant to answer. Her dark brown eyes once again glanced up at Dakota for reassurance. She finally wrote in feminine half-cursive, "I saw him not too long ago, but I'm not sure which way he went." Not the most helpful answer, but it was something.

She handed the note back to me, revealing the pictures on the yearbook page underneath. The glossy photos were alive with the wild colors of prom dresses, gleaming bright in the camera's flash against the background of a blackened dancefloor. Curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn't help but ask to see the yearbook. Candace happily handed it over and pointed out a picture of herself in the corner. In it, she was wearing a short blue-and-turquoise dress and dancing with—not Dakota—but a tuxedoed boy so paradoxically tall compared to Candace they had to crop off the top of his head just to fit both of them in frame. The caption underneath read "Dajan Asad and Candace Emerson."

She must have been trying to distract me from the picture in the opposite corner—one of "Melody Geiger and Nathaniel Weiss" slow dancing forehead-to-forehead, their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

So Nathaniel had a girlfriend after all. Or at least he did when this picture was taken. Melody was pretty, swathed in hot pink tulle—and she looked deliriously happy. And so did he.

I forced a smile, trying to suppress contradictory sensations of jealousy and guilt.

Why did he act like he wanted to kiss me if he already has a girlfriend? Why didn't he tell me?

I guess I _did_ just meet him. He couldn't exactly tell me the specifics of his dysfunctional relationship that morning on the roof. And judging from his reaction when Candace dropped her name in a text earlier, things between Melody and Nathaniel were on the rocks before I even got here.

I don't think I've done anything wrong, and neither has he. At least not yet.

The only one who could definitively answer the questions that were forming in my mind was Nathaniel—but before I could ask him, I had to find him.

On a more practical note, he was my ride home, so I really did need to find him sooner rather than later.

I closed the red yearbook and tucked it under my arm. "Can I take this one for Nathaniel?" I wrote to Candace to be read by Dakota.

_Sure_, she shrugged.

I curtly nodded my head, gave them a feeble smile, and turned to leave.

Dakota had no idea what as going on; he seemed content just to be with Candace, and very little else seemed to matter. She, on the other hand, knew more than she was willing to tell me. She stopped me with a small white hand on my arm before I got too far. _Wait_, she pleaded, her face heavy with worry. _Um..._ She squinted at our shoes, not sure how to say what she was thinking.

What is it, Candace?

At that exact moment, my phone buzzed in my back pocket. It was a text from Nathaniel. "I didn't mean to abandon you. I'm coming right back."

I was so relieved I might have accidentally moaned out loud as I sighed. "Tell me where you are, and I'll come to you," I typed with avid thumbs.

"Wait for me outside the House of Mirrors?"

What? _Wait_ for me?

As much as I wanted to tell him yes, I couldn't promise I'd _wait_. "I'll see you soon," is all I could tell him for sure.

Meanwhile, Candace frowned at me as I stood there texting. I re-pocketed my phone and re-opened the notebook, writing "Which way to the House of Mirrors?" with newfound motivation.

Dakota interpreted, and Candace wrote in reply: "All the way down past the games, right, then right again. They set it up in the school parking lot."

**Thank you**, I signed to them both, finally thrusting myself back into the crowd before she could stop me again.

I felt my heart starting to race as I stepped onto the asphalt parking lot and became encircled in the yellow glow of the concrete light posts. Was Nathaniel with Melody right now? If so, doing what?

The House of Mirrors was really more like the Tent of Mirrors. It looked rickety and not very impressive from the outside, draped in crinkled red-and-white canvas with a painted plywood sign—a ramshackle flea circus attempt at a carnival attraction. It wasn't very popular. There was no one waiting to go inside. There wasn't even a carnie regulating the entrance.

"Wait for me?" Nathaniel's text had said.

I tried. Honestly, I did. I paced back and forth. I twiddled my hair between my fingers. I recited a poem in my head. I signed the alphabet backwards and forwards.

After about five minutes, though, I decided I was through with waiting, and in I went.

Inside, I was immediately met my forty other Johannas, my own hazel eyes gaping back at me from every angle. Unable to help myself, I stepped closer to one of the mirrors, using the opportunity to fix the back of my hair where it had begun to frizz, scrunching my face into a critical grimace.

That mirror was actually the door that let out from the interior of the maze. I didn't know that, but I would find out soon enough.

Without warning, someone on the other side pushed the mirror so that it swung on its swiveling hinge, and it would have spun all the way around if the sharp edge hadn't collided with my forehead.

It was the initial scare that made me drop everything I was carrying, not so much the force. The pain didn't set in until seconds later—a sharp, stinging pain that reached back into my skull with surprising intensity.

I was shoved out of the way by impatient hands. I blinked a few times, still trying to cope with the pain in my head.

It was the snotty girl I'd seen throwing a hissy fit at the guess-your-weight kiosk. She was scantily clad in nothing more than ripped denim shorts and a green bikini top, flaunting her slutty belly button piercing and her spray-tanned skin. Identical images of her glowering face were reflected all around me, but I knew the one in front of me was the real one; the stench of her too-strong department store perfume made my eyes water.

She fussily tossed a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder, jostling her gold hoop earrings, then planted her fists firmly on her hips and looked me dead in the eyes. Her glossy lips jabbered as she talked, and she gnawed a wad of bubblegum with her back teeth. I couldn't read what she was saying, but I could render a guess: _Get out of my way_.

I met her gaze, rolling my shoulders back and lowering my hands from where they had been holding my head.

Who the _hell_ does this girl think she is?

A second figure ducked through the mirrored doorway—a much, much taller figure.

He was easily the tallest person I'd ever seen, taller even than Dad, who was six-two. If I had to guess, I'd put him somewhere around six-six, maybe even six-_eight_. I wasn't surprised to see he wore basketball shoes with his athletic shorts and form-fitting black t-shirt. His dreadlocked black-brown hair was held behind his head with a thick rubber band. From under dark, expressive brows, his honey-colored eyes searched my face for signs of distress or injury, his lips forming the words _are you alright?_ He even reached out with contrastingly white-palmed hands to steady me, as though afraid I might fall over.

The blonde girl scoffed and tossed her hair some more, reaching for the boy's long arm and trying to pull him towards the exit.

But he wouldn't be moved. He was strong enough to withstand her pulling as though she were nothing more than an annoying afterthought—and he _did_ seem rightfully annoyed with her as he stooped to collect the yearbook and notebook I'd dropped, handing them back to me apologetically.

Defying explanation, the girl snatched the well-worn composition notebook out of his hand, her mouth still rattling on.

The pages fell open where the binding was creased, revealing the conversation I had with Nathaniel earlier in the evening—the part where he spilled his guts about not wanting to go to law school in Indiana.

Her green eyes flicked over the words in a matter of nanoseconds, then her mouth dropped open. Much to my dismay, her mouth formed his name: _Nathaniel?_

She must have recognized his handwriting. Or his story. Or both.

How _dare_ she! That was our private conversation! He told me that with the understanding that I wouldn't tell anyone else. He probably put his trust in me specifically because he knew I wouldn't talk about him behind his back—because I can't talk at all.

She clenched her mouth shut and handed the notebook back to me with the fakest of smiles. _Thanks_, said her smacking lips, and turned on her heel to march purposefully out of the House of Mirrors, beckoning the tall boy to follow her.

Once again, he stayed put. He wasn't even looking at her. He was looking straight at me. _I'm sorry_, said his lips, his long lashes half-closed over his eyes.

Why is someone as nice as you hanging around with a bitch like _her_? I wanted so badly to ask out loud. But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't even thank the boy for his kindness; my hard-won four-dollar pencil had rolled away somewhere across the lined parking lot pavement. I just stared up at him, wide-eyed and silent.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into a heart-melting smile.

As I hugged my books to my chest with sweaty hands, I felt myself smiling back. He was pretty cute.

Who am I kidding? He wasn't cute. He was _to die for_.

Focus, Johanna! You're here to find Nathaniel, aren't you?

I hung my head and bashfully shuffled my feet.

The tall boy experienced a similar wakeup call as he remembered himself. His smile faded and he reluctantly followed the rotten blonde girl out into the parking lot, taking long strides with his sinewy legs. Just before he disappeared through the entryway, I saw him chance a glance back at me—and his smile returned.

Deep breaths, Johanna. Deep breaths.

I decisively forced my way through the swinging mirrored door, resuming my search for Nathaniel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Take Me Home**

Unlike the piddly little Ferris wheel, the maze of mirrors was more expansive on the inside than it appeared to be on the outside. I wandered through the Plexiglas labyrinth, gazing back at the warped and wobbly freckle-faced strawberry blonde doppelgangers that followed me along the walls.

Wait for me outside the House of Mirrors, he said. I'm coming right back, he said.

But that was probably something like fifteen minutes ago. What's taking him so long?

The drooping canvas ceiling served as a sort of compass; the closer I was to the center of the tent, the higher the canvas was from the top of the mirrored walls of the maze. I could tell I was very near the center when I found one mirror in particular that was smudged with handprints in the exact spot a doorknob should have been. I gave it a gentle push, and just as I thought, it was another one of those swiveling doors.

Someone was on the other side. I froze.

I knew who she was before I even caught sight of Nathaniel standing across from her. She was the type who wore every nuance of emotion on her face—an elegant, ladylike face framed in wavy brown hair that was tied half-up in a pink ribbon. Even though her brows were screwed up in frustration, she was beautiful.

I hung back, not wanting to intervene. Neither of them paid any attention to me; they must not have realized I was even there.

I guess this is why he wanted me to wait outside…

Melody was talking, but it was hard for me to see the words. There was a lot of _you_. There was a _make_ or a _can't_. There was an _I don't understand_ that made her lower lip quiver.

Nathaniel stood with his back towards me, shoulders slumped, head tilted down, hands in his pockets.

Melody's white tennis shirt fluttered delicately as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hair falling over her shoulders as she shook her head. She looked dangerously close to tears as she waited for Nathaniel to say something. _Well?_ she urged him.

Whatever she wanted him to say, he wouldn't say it—or couldn't say it. He stared intently at a spot on the ground, then brought a hand out of his pocket, holding his phone.

_What are you doing?_ Melody demanded.

Nathaniel didn't answer her. He was typing a text message one-handed.

Oh, no. He's not sending me another 'I'll be right back' text, is he? Because if he is—

I scrambled to reach my own phone and tried to turn the vibration off, but it was too late. Nathaniel's inbound text ("I'm sorry, I promise I'll be there soon") lit up the screen and sent shudders through my fingers.

I'm not sure what gave me away; either she heard the noise the vibration made or she noticed the light and the door that hung open. When her watery blue eyes found me, her sadness overflowed, and she buried her face in her hands.

Nathaniel, unsure of what to do, tried to console her, but she was beyond consolation. She tore her hands away from her face, balling them into fists, and shouted something at him, stamping her foot indignantly. She rushed past me in a tearful pink-and-white blur and disappeared around a corner of the labyrinth, chased by countless reflections.

Did I just witness Nathaniel breaking up with his girlfriend?

Well…whoever Melody was to Nathaniel, she was gone now.

I moved into the maze's center, shortening the distance between us, then stopped when I got within a few feet of him. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch him, but that wasn't what this situation called for, so I bottled the urge and stood still.

Nathaniel knew I was watching him and was trying so hard to keep it together. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He blinked with fluttering eyelashes and brought a hand up to cover his mouth.

Is he…about to cry?

Sympathy and irritation flooded my mind at the same time.

Don't cry, Nathaniel, please! I didn't mean for her to see me and get so upset…

No, it wasn't _me_ who made her upset—that was all _you_. What were you _thinking_, texting another girl at a time like that? It's no wonder she's heartbroken, after what _you_ did!

…What _other_ dirty little secrets do you not want me to know about besides little miss Melody?

But seriously, don't cry. If you cry, I won't be able to stand it…

For the sake of busying my idle hands, I checked the time on my phone. It was already 9:30.

I leaned forward and put a hand on Nathaniel's shoulder. He jumped at the touch and whirled around to face me, his soft brown eyes sunken and sad.

Oh, Nathaniel, don't look at me like that…

I showed him the time, trying to keep my face as stoic as possible as my heart raced.

He nodded listlessly when he understood.

Thankfully, it was easy to find our way back out of the maze. The exit door still stood conspicuously open from when Rude Blonde Girl so carelessly bashed it into my head—and Tall, Dark, and Handsome had come to my rescue.

We opted not to go back through the still bustling carnival midway. I followed him away from the high school parking lot across the quiet, dimly-lit street, the night air raising goosebumps on my arms. I held the notebook and the yearbook to my chest and shivered. Nathaniel's blue truck appeared in the distance where he'd left it parked at the empty, black-windowed bank.

Was it childish of me to feel disappointed when he didn't scramble to open the passenger-side door for me like he did when he picked me up? Maybe just a little. He was anxious to get in the truck—probably so that he could drop me off and go home and forget this night ever happened.

While I searched for the seatbelt, he reached around me to grab something out of the back. He eased into his seat once his hands found what he was looking for: a white and gray athletic jacket. He held it out to me, his mouth forming the word _cold_—_you must be cold_ or _it suddenly got cold_, perhaps.

It was funny. The first thing I ever said to him was about how _hot_ it was—which was my clever way of trying to hide how enchanted I was by him. The same tingling feeling that teased my heart when I first saw him came back with a vengeance, and I was unable to hide my smile.

Nathaniel's was one of those older trucks that had no center console; the passenger and driver seats were pretty much like a couch. I set my books down on the seat beside me and scooted closer to him. The raglan sleeves were slinky against my skin as I slipped the jacket on backwards, flaying my fingers open when they breached the ribbed cuffs. My hand accidentally brushed his back, but I didn't withdraw it immediately like I should have. I let it linger there, giving him what I hope he interpreted as a compassionate pat—which turned into a compassionate squeeze.

He didn't let this chance pass by. Just like that, his arms were around me, holding me in our first embrace. I squeezed back, shyly at first, then harder, my hands exploring the graceful curves and firm, smooth flesh of his back and shoulders.

I felt his jaw move like he was trying to talk to me, so I pulled away. _I'm sorry, Johanna_, he was saying—along with a jumble of other things that I couldn't see in the half-light.

It's okay, I wanted to tell him—but with no pen and no interpreter, the only way I could tell him was to show him.

Show him…with a kiss?

Absolutely not! To kiss him now would be inappropriate on so many levels.

…It seemed all of the things I wanted to do to Nathaniel were 'inappropriate,' so I sat there and watched his lips, wishing I had the magic cure for whatever was hurting him—and feeling sort of empty because I knew I didn't.

We returned to our respective sides of the front seat and he drove us back to our cookie-cutter subdivision. We arrived in front of my red brick house after minutes that felt as fleeting as milliseconds. I quickly glanced at the clock on the radio to confirm that we were right on time. It 10:06, but at least we weren't late enough to arouse suspicion.

I'd almost forgotten about the yearbook. I handed it to Nathaniel—who smiled appreciatively when he realized he never got one for himself. I started to take the jacket off, but he shook his head and insisted that I keep it, at least for now—because I would surely catch my death of cold within the five seconds it would take for me to walk across the lawn to the front door, right?

I waved goodbye to him from the porch, and he waved back, smiling crookedly. He made sure I was through the door before he pulled away, turning into his own driveway only about a hundred yards away.

I closed the front door behind me, leaning against it and exhaling prominently—then immediately straightening back up when I saw Mom and Dad were waiting up for me.

They had taken up all the drop cloths from the living room carpet—which was, oddly enough, different from the carpet in the rest of the house. They were sitting on the plush sofa in the middle of the room; Dad was holding a camera face-out, looking through the pictures on its digital display.

**Hey**, I greeted to them.

**Hey**, Dad mimicked, setting the camera down on the couch cushion. **I was just about to send you a text**.

**Cutting it awfully close, aren't you?** Mom contributed.

**I'm sorry**, I apologized. **We just lost track of time. We meant to come back sooner**—which was true enough. I probably wouldn't have been late if I hadn't touched him—but what fun would _that_ have been?

**I guess he was 'fun' after all?** Dad asked ironically, raising an eyebrow when he saw I wore his jacket.

I pulled the jacket off and slung it over my arm. **Yeah, he's ****_nice_**, I emphasized.

**He is quite the little gentleman**, Mom agreed, smiling shamelessly.

I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, and felt slightly ashamed of how badly I wanted it to be Nathaniel telling me he couldn't stop thinking about me, either. We'd been apart, what, thirty seconds? A minute?

**I'm tired**, I exaggerated, stretching my aching arms and shoulders. **I'm going to bed. Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad.**

**Good night**, they echoed, dismissing me.

Once I was upstairs and behind my room's closed door, I dug my phone out of my pocket. "I feel like I owe you an apology," Nathaniel had sent. "I'm so sorry, Johanna."

"You definitely owe me an explanation," I corrected him, "but you don't have to be sorry. I'm glad I went with you tonight."

He came right back with a heart-wrenching "I'm glad you're here."

I thought back to all the faces I'd seen at the carnival. Nathaniel knew everybody there, but did any of them really know him? He didn't seem particularly attached to any one of them in particular—except maybe Candace, but she was otherwise occupied.

…And Melody, but now she probably _hates_ him.

Nathaniel must have been so lonely. If I could help him stave off that loneliness, even just for the summer, I would.

"I'm glad to be here," I answered. "Good night, Nathaniel. I'll text you tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

**Nathaniel Explains it All**

One o'clock in the morning is considered tomorrow, right? I _did_ tell Nathaniel I'd text him tomorrow…

No. Put the phone down and go to sleep, Johanna.

But I couldn't have fallen asleep even if I'd been trying. Ever since I got home from the carnival, I'd been staring up at the textured ceiling above my bed, still wearing my denim shorts and tank top, Nathaniel's jacket spread over my chest like a blanket.

Apparently, I'd accidentally walked into a maelstrom of high school melodrama when I agreed to go out with Nathaniel.

No, I shouldn't be thinking like that. I shouldn't use the words 'go out.' That makes it sounds like there's more going on between us than there really is.

What exactly _is_ going on between us? Like it or not, I've got a major crush on my super-cute neighbor boy, and he seems to like me back—but he's moving away after the summer ends, so I can't get _too_ attached.

It might be too late for that; I'm already pretty attached. I did almost kiss him. And I hugged him. And I'm using his jacket as a blanket because it smells just like the inside of his truck. And I'm lying awake because I can't get him out of my head.

And his girlfriend (I assume) yelled at him in front of me, then ran away crying.

Poor Melody… I hope he didn't dump her because of _me_.

No, Nathaniel wouldn't do that. Sure he likes me, but something had to have happened before I got here that made them at odds with each other in the first place.

…Right?

Stop it. Go to sleep.

My thoughts circled around like this for minute after tortuous minute. I tried to will myself to go to sleep, but I absolutely could not with Nathaniel's too-sad eyes haunting me every time I tried to close my own.

Just when I thought I might drift off, my cell phone gave off a muffled vibration. I searched for where I'd lost it among the tangled covers—and just as I had been secretly wishing, it was Nathaniel sending me a text. "Johanna, are you still awake?" The bright white screen made my otherwise dark bedroom glow a soft blue.

"Yeah," I responded gleefully. "Is everything okay?"

Waiting for his response was agony. The delay was only a few seconds, but it felt like ages. "Yeah, I'm okay. I was just wondering if you could let me in."

Let him in? What's he talking about? …Wait, is he—?

Movement and color that hadn't been there before caught my eye just outside the window. There he was, waving at me from the other side of the glass, still wearing the same cargo shorts and t-shirt he wore to the carnival, a slightly embarrassed smile spreading across his face.

I sprang up, almost tripping over my own feet in my haste to open the window.

Nathaniel stepped through one leg at a time. I noticed he had his cell phone and a flashlight with him, for reasons that were obvious enough—but why he also carried his red yearbook, I couldn't even begin to guess.

Once both of his sneakered feet were safely inside on firm ground, we shared another one of those what-do-we-do-now stares—but only for a few heart-pounding seconds. I dove for the composition notebook that I'd dropped on the carpeted floor beside my footboard and I fished a pen out of my still-open box of desk contents. I ripped the cap off of the pen and meant to write out one of the thousand questions that flooded my mind, but the tip hovered unmoving over the blank page because I honestly had no idea where to even start.

At first, I thought of common-sense questions, like: What are you _thinking_? How did you even get _up_ here? What if my _Mom_ hears you and comes into my room? How did you get out of your _own_ house? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?

Then, they evolved into more poignant questions, like: Are you _sure_ you're okay? Was it Melody? Did she try to call you or something? Is there _anything_ I can do to help?

I glanced up from the page to take Nathaniel in by the light of the moon. He looked back at me with eyes that were straining to see in the dark, his sepia brown irises barely visible rings around the vacant blackness of his dilated pupils. His hands were unconsciously pulling at the bottom of his shirt in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed in the cotton, probably from him trying and failing to go to sleep, the same as me.

To stop his fidgeting, I took one of his hands in mine, and pulled him further into my room, motioning for him to join me on my bed.

He was too dumbstruck to mind the messily wrinkled sheets, but that didn't stop me from nonsensically wishing I had made the bed. It was almost two o'clock in the morning, and he dropped in completely out of the blue. I couldn't have been expected to tidy up beforehand.

What's more, I couldn't seem to find a comfortable way of sitting on the edge of my own bed. I kept fussily crossing and uncrossing my legs. I finally decided to pull both legs up and sit Indian style, like I would if Nathaniel wasn't even there. He did the exact same thing, slipping off his shoes to sit cross-legged directly across from me, only a few inches away.

He blinked heavily and squinted into the dark expectantly. His vision must not have been as good as mine. Even in the moonlight, I could see every shorn hair that tried to poke through the smooth skin of his chin—every bead of sweat that formed on his face, neck, and collarbone.

Nathaniel's body was perfection. It was all I could do not to pounce on top of him and teach him how to read my body language.

I let out a heavy sigh, then reached for my cell phone and used the screen to illuminate the white page of the notebook that rested on my folded thigh. "Could you not sleep, either?" I wrote. That was sure to get the ball rolling again.

_No_, he admitted with a shake of his head, taking it from me to write a response. "I don't like the way I left things. I can't imagine what you must think of me after what you saw."

"I think I only know half of the story," I countered. "So tell me what really happened."

Nathaniel sat still and thought, searching for the right words in the darkness behind my head. "I guess Melody expected me to string her along, even after I leave for Indiana. It's not that I don't like her. I do." He started to hand it to me, but at the last second he snatched it back to scribble out "do" and change it to "did."

Past tense. He _did_ like her.

Does that mean…they're over?

"She says she's liked me since the second grade," he went on, "but she didn't bother to tell so me until prom night last month. I don't know if I really believe that. Seven years is a really long time to not tell someone something that important. I went along with it because I've always thought she was nice, and she is really pretty…"

Why did he feel like he had to rationalize his feelings about another girl to me? I knew right from the start that there had to be other girls in his past, and maybe even in his present. There were definitely other boys in _my_ past—more than I was even willing to admit to Nathaniel at this point. But I'd never fallen for any of them the way Melody must have fallen for Nathaniel, judging from the anguish I saw on her face earlier tonight in the House of Mirrors.

With regards to falling for Nathaniel, I could definitely empathize with her.

"…She might not have the greatest sense of humor," Nathaniel wrote with a bashful smile, "but I used to be like that, too." He cracked open his yearbook and turned to a page that archived a mock United Nations summit. His expression was serious as he sat among other teenagers pretending to represent Scandinavian countries (Nathaniel was Sweden, Melody was Finland), their tiny flags proudly displayed on the table in front of them. In the picture he wore a prim silk tie, the pocket of his collared shirt full of pens and shielded from possible ink stains by a pocket protector. Yes, really—a pocket protector.

I clasped a hand over my mouth just in case any of my giggles escaped in the form of sound I couldn't hear. "Why are you dressed like a preppy Jehovah's Witness?" I jotted jokingly.

Nathaniel smiled playfully and shook his head. "Believe it or not, I used to dress like that every single day. I quit wearing the tie second semester of senior year, after I got back from studying abroad in Australia over winter break." He turned to another page and showed me a picture of himself in a yellow polo shirt, flanked on either side by a rosy-cheeked, red-haired Candace and a boy I hadn't met before. Nathaniel was smiling brightly for the camera, but he looked piqued.

The other boy—"Lysander Vespasian," according to the photo's caption—was incredible. I'd describe him as 'platinum blond,' but there was no yellow-blond in his hair, only platinum. It was practically white, dip-dyed blackish gray at the ends of his long bangs. His thin face was made even more dazzling by eyes that were two different colors.

I probably shouldn't ask about this other hot boy—not when I have an equally hot boy sitting on my bed. It'd be safer to ask about Candace instead.

"Candace studied abroad with you?" I wrote, genuinely curious. "Is that how she met Dakota?"

He pondered for a moment before he decided on, "Yes and no. It's kind of a long story, but it all turned out okay for them in the end. She's going off to college at the end of the summer, too, and he's going back home. She says they're still going to stay together."

"Long-distance relationship, huh?" I wrote skeptically.

"Yeah." He was just as skeptical as I was. "She's my friend, and I wish her all the best, but she's not realistic."

"You must know Candace pretty well. Did you and her ever have…a thing?" She was pretty cute, after all—and according to Nathaniel, she was new last year. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd shown _her_ 'around town,' too.

"Ancient history," was all he was willing to tell me about that—and he did so with a (hopefully silent) laugh, which led me to truly believe that whatever happened or didn't happen with Candace was brief and needed no elaboration.

This must be why he brought the yearbook with him: to share pieces of his life with me—pieces that I'd missed. I felt a strange sadness when I realized just how much of his life I'd missed out on.

I guess I'd have to make up for lost time this summer.

"Candace is a smart girl," he went on, "but not when it comes to things like this. She doesn't realize what she's getting herself into." His smile faded when he had to write her name. "I didn't want to put Melody in that position. I know the guys at her college are going to be all over her. She won't have any problems finding someone else."

"Neither will you," I cut in, filling in the line underneath. "You're everything a girl could want."

He looked up at me, his face illuminated from underneath by the glow of my cell phone. He and I stayed this way so long that the screen faded to black again, leaving us blinking, trying to re-find each others' faces by the moonlight that streamed through my open window. He reached out with a hesitant hand and found my hair; he pulled his fingers down through it so gently it made me shiver.

Without warning, he whipped his head to his right and gaped at the closed door, horrified.

Does he hear Mom coming?

What do we do? he beseeched me without words, his eyes returning to mine.

Get down! I commanded him, shoving him to the floor. He rolled under the bed within milliseconds of Mom cracking open the door and peeking inside.

When she saw I was awake, sitting upright, and still wearing my clothes, she flipped the light switch. My eyes, which had become complacent in the darkness, stung when they were assaulted by the bright yellow light.

**What's going on in here? **she signed, still half-asleep. **What are you still doing up?**

**I couldn't sleep, so I was writing.** Neither of these statements were lies. As long as Nathaniel didn't sneeze or make any sudden movements, I could still get out of this scot-free.

Mom narrowed her eyes at me, then tisked and shook her head like she does whenever she thinks I've done something foolish. **Change out of those clothes and go to bed. I need you to help me at the new studio tomorrow—_bright _****and****_ early_****.**

**Okay**, I agreed halfheartedly. **I'm sorry I woke you up. Good night.**

**Good night**, she conceded, then turned and hobbled down the hall to the master bedroom.

I got up and crossed the room to peek through the doorway. Once I was sure she was gone, I dropped to the floor to help Nathaniel slither out from under the bed, pulling his forearm.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself on my knees, crouched over him as he lay on the floor, my hand intertwined with his.

He screwed up his eyes in an attempt to protect them from the merciless light. _I should go_, said his apologetic lips.

I grabbed the notebook from where it lay open on the bed, reluctantly tearing my hand away from his to write my suggestion. "Wait until she goes to sleep. She'll definitely hear you if you climb down now."

_Okay_, he agreed. _Good point._

The truth was I didn't want him to leave any more than he wanted to go.

I turned out the lights again, and Nathaniel attentively listened for any more parental disturbances. I assumed he didn't hear any, because after a while he started to relax again, smiling shyly every time my eyes found his in the near darkness.

When my cell phone indicated it was well past 4AM, we found ourselves in a bittersweet stalemate. We'd already tried to say goodnight once before, and now it was too early in the morning to try to say it again.

The notebook, which we had forgotten about hours before, lay untouched on the floor. Both of us were too deliriously tired to muster the strength to read or write words so crudely. For the past few hours, he and I communicated by touch alone—my head on his shoulder, his arm around my back, my hand in his, our feet intertwined.

I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep like that until I felt Nathaniel's arms lift me up from the floor and set me down gently on my padded mattress. I opened my eyes in time to see him leave the way he came in—through the window, one foot at a time, smiling his adorable boyish smile. Then I fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep—which seemed to last only a few minutes and was ruined when Mom's cruel hands jostled me awake.

**You never changed out of your clothes, Johnanna?** she signed exasperatedly as I rubbed my eyes.

I checked the time on my cell phone—7AM—then threw a furtive glance at the window, which was still hanging slightly open. **I probably should just wear clothes to bed from now on**, I said only half cynically. **You never know who might drop in when you least expect it.**

**You're a strange child**, Mom said back, lost for words. **Put _different_**** clothes on. We're going to see the new studio this morning.**

Part of me thought maybe Mom _had_ seen Nathaniel hiding under my bed last night and her dragging me out into the world at this ungodly hour was a sadistic form of punishment. At the same time, I knew that if she _had_ found us out, the consequences would be much more severe than early-morning errands.

"That was a close one," I wrote to Nathaniel in a text for him to read when he woke up. "We should do it again sometime."

And to think—that was only my _first_ 'date' with Nathaniel Weiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Superhuman**

I still hadn't been to the storefront that would become Quirke Family Photography, but Dad had been back and fourth at least a dozen times moving in the brand-new equipment. This morning all three of us were needed to whip the place into shape before our first-ever clients' appointment, which Mom had haphazardly scheduled for this afternoon.

The boutiques and artisan shops were nestled together on a sloping cobblestone street lined with little fenced-in trees. Our store was sandwiched between a nail salon with a blinking neon sign and a clothing store with a chic purple awning. For now, the store's façade was empty, the wide window in front bare, but we would make it our own soon enough.

The air inside was thick with the smell of dust, splintery plywood, and nail polish remover. Mom and I bustled around, trying to clear the empty space of sawdust and debris. The clothes shop next door had recently expanded, knocking down the shared wall and re-building it, making our store considerably smaller than it used to be, but Mom was sure its current size would suit our needs just fine. The bare drywall looked bleak, but it would have to do for now until we could paint it.

I twisted my hair into a messy bun and looped a ponytail holder taught around it. **Have you met the family who made the appointment for today?** I asked Mom once my hands were free.

**I talked to the mom on the phone. She made the appointment for her son and daughter. She says she has lots of pictures of them individually, but she needs pictures of them together**, she filled me in. **It should be fun!**

**How ****_old_**** are they?** I wondered. It couldn't be Nathaniel, could it? Didn't he say he had a younger sister?

That was all it took for me to get swept up in a fantasy in which I choreographed stunning glamour-shots of a shirtless Nathaniel, his feathery hair blowing in a breeze generated by an out-of-frame box fan.

Mom frowned. **You know what? I forgot to even ****_ask_**** her how old her kids were!** She mimed smacking her own forehead in exasperation.

It wasn't Nathaniel and his sister, then.** It's no big deal**, I assured her, disappointedly letting my daydream dissolve. **I was just curious. We'll figure it out when they get here.**

But the damage was done, and I could tell Mom was flustered. Photography was her hobby as long as I could remember, but buying the studio and living her dream was a huge step. Before we moved, she'd been a children's librarian, and Dad worked for a contractor that restored historic buildings. They poured their whole lives' savings into this transition because all three of us needed a change—me especially.

While Mom busied herself with cleaning the window of smudges, Dad waved me to the back of the studio. **We need to fix this to the ceiling**, he said, motioning to a heavy-looking metal rig of interchangeable muslin backdrops that lay on the dusty floor.

**Couldn't you have found a neighbor kid for this?** I whined, Nathaniel still on the brain.

**Enough**, Dad stifled me. I could tell from the way he tiredly ran a hand over his receding white-ginger hair he felt the pressure of the approaching deadline. **We talked about this before the move. You'll do it, and you'll do it with a ****_smile_**** on your face—for your ****_Mom_****.**

'Do it for Mom' was sort of our mantra. Since Dad and I were deaf, we often depended on her to interpret for us around hearing people, and she likewise depended on us to take care of physical tasks beyond her capabilities. She was born with legs of unequal length, and over time scoliosis had twisted her spine into an unnatural arc. She walked with the help of corrective shoes and, depending on how much it bothered her on a day-to-day basis, a cane.

Today must have been a good day, because she lurched around the studio without the help of her cane. I wasn't nearly as spry as I reluctantly obeyed Dad and took up half of the cumbrous metal rig, bemoaning my lack of sleep.

He must have felt guilty for subjecting me to heavy lifting in the dust and the heat; the next task Dad had lined up for me was considerably easier. While he set up the lights, he had me go through his and Mom's portfolios and pick my favorites to display in frames on the wall once we got it painted.

Their portfolios weren't labeled, but it was easy to tell them apart based on subject matter. Mom liked taking candid shots of people: some deaf, some hearing; some adults, adults, some children; some smiling, some scowling; some mid-conversation, some sitting alone on park benches. Dad was more of a landscape guy; he captured stills of Mount Vernon, the National Mall, the Jefferson Memorial framed in cherry blossoms, the steps in front of the Smithsonian drizzled with snow, and the ghostly emptiness of Ford's Theatre.

As the only child of two photographers, I was often a guinea pig, and both of them had several dozen Johanna pictures that they deemed portfolio-worthy as well: me as a fourth-grader playing Cat's Cradle with other deaf girls, me as a twelve-year-old appreciatively touching a random name on the glossy black surface of the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial, me as my current seventeen-year-old self holding an armful of peonies from a neighbor's garden.

I lined up my picks from each collection in neat rows on the countertop that would become the cash wrap.

**Good choices**, Mom said as she looked over the selection. **I love this one**, she said of the most recent picture of me. **Remind me to print another so I can put it up on the wall at home.**

When she turned to continue her anxious puttering, I checked the time on my phone—and instantly regretted it. _How_ was it only 9AM?

I waved at Mom to get her attention.** What time did you say that appointment was again?**

**One o'clock this afternoon**, she reminded me with a glance at her wristwatch.** Oh my God, we still have so much to do!**

I was equally aghast, but for the opposite reason.

_Four_ _hours_ away? Are you _kidding_ me?

I was giving serious thought to asking Mom if I could go home and take a nap (and not come back), but I knew the answer would be no. I busied my hands by checking and re-checking my phone for texts from a certain neighbor boy, even though I knew there would be none. I wanted desperately to text him, but I had to let him sleep; he'd stayed up even later than I did last night.

But of course I couldn't help myself. To satiate my craving, I decided I would send him a short message to read when he woke up. "I'm a wreck! I haven't been much help at the new studio so far. My whole body hurts I'm so tired."

I was slightly ashamed of myself. I might as well have written, 'Hey! Wake up and pay attention to me!'

To my surprise, he responded almost immediately. "I'm sorry. It's my fault for keeping you up so late."

"No, it's not!" I sent back, smiling giddily. "It's my fault for opening the window and letting you in!"

"But I'm glad you did," he answered suavely.

Nathaniel was pushing _all_ the right buttons. He must have woken up on the _flirty_ side of the bed this morning!

I coyly changed the subject for the sake of giving my palpitating heart a break. "I can't believe you're already up. I'd give anything to crawl back into bed and sleep for days. Aren't you tired?"

"No. I got three hours in."

Was that a typo? _Three_ _hours_—and that's _it_? "Yeah, right! That's nowhere near enough."

"I don't usually sleep more than four or five," he replied. "If I sleep any more than that, I just feel more tired."

Was he bragging about his sleep deprivation? Was I supposed to be impressed? "You're superhuman," I played along, shamelessly stroking his ego. "I can't function unless I get at least eight."

"You're the one who's superhuman. You amaze me, Johanna."

I blinked and reevaluated his last message to make sure I wasn't just imagining things—but my bubble was burst when my nosy mother tried to peek over my shoulder at what I was reading.

**_Who_**** are you texting this early in the morning?** she wanted to know.

**S-H-E-L-B-Y**, I lied, conjuring the name of a random classmate from the School for the Deaf in Virginia.

**Well, give it a rest! I'm taking that stupid thing away from you if you don't come help us**, Mom snipped angrily, holding out a hand for my phone. **Your father and I don't pay for you to have it so you can sit on your butt and do nothing.**

Crap. Here was a predicament. If Mom looked through my received texts, not only would she find out I'd lied to her about who I was texting, but she'd see what Nathaniel sent me last night and know he was in my room. On the other hand, if I deleted all the texts from last night (and this morning), she'd know I had something to hide. Either way, she'd freak out and start lecturing me about _responsibility_ and _trust_ and telling the _truth_—and I _really_ didn't want to go through that again.

**I'm turning it off**, I said, stowing it in an empty drawer behind the cash wrap. I would have to risk leaving it unattended, but as long as I didn't check it too often, Mom would have no reason to suspect anything. I wished I could have sent Nathaniel a text letting him know that I'd be away, but I could always apologize for not answering later—hopefully in person, later tonight.

They'll probably let me go out again if I'm a good girl and finish all my chores, I reasoned. With that, I plunged headfirst into cleaning and organizing the studio with newfound zeal.

After three long, dirty, toiling hours, we were left with a space that somewhat resembled a functioning photography studio, albeit a still brand-new one will bare walls.

Dad looked about ready to pass out from exhaustion.** I'm going to head home and take a shower**, he said, mopping his sweaty forehead with his t-shirt. **Are you okay to stay here and help your mother, Jo?**

That wasn't him _asking_ me to stay with Mom; that was him _telling_ me to stay with Mom. **Yes**, I agreed, even though I wanted nothing more in that moment than a cool shower and a change of clothes.

It seemed Dad had just pulled away when a dented Honda CR-V came into view on the street outside and parked where his car had been.

**I think that's them now**, Mom signaled.

**_Whoop-de-do_**, I threw back, sarcastically pantomiming party crackers and not even trying to mask my annoyance at Dad for making me stay.

…But when I saw _him_, my mood did a complete one-eighty.

Lo and behold, it was Tall, Dark, and Handsome from the House of Mirrors, ducking through the doorway like he was walking into a dollhouse.

All of a sudden I was extremely aware of the fact that I was covered in a layer of filth. It must have looked like I'd rolled in dust, and my hair was falling out of its bun in sweaty ringlets. Last-minute preening would do no good at this point, so I stood in the middle of the floor and stared at him unblinkingly…

…And he stared back.

He was the picture of perfection, as pristine as I was disheveled. Those eyes, the exact color of honey, were syrupy and sweet as they took me in head to toe. He carried himself with confidence, obviously comfortable in his own skin—which, by the way, looked irresistibly soft. He raised a teasing brow when his eyes made contact with mine, and a sexy facial piercing I hadn't noticed before glinted in the afternoon sunlight. For his portrait sitting, he was dressed in a slinky, sleeveless, red-on-white basketball uniform, the number ten emblazoned across his stomach, the name 'Asad' in bold letters on his back.

'Asad'… How do I know that name?

My heart was about to be stolen—not by the mysterious basketball player, but by his little sister.

She was tiny, and devastatingly shy, hiding behind her brother's long legs and tugging at the bottoms of his knee-length shorts. He glanced down at her as though worried she would accidentally pull them off (which I wouldn't have minded one bit.) She was his 'little' sister in more ways than one; she couldn't have been older than four or five. Her mother had dressed her in a red-and-white polka-dotted sundress that was doubtless meant to both coordinate and contrast with her brother's masculine uniform. Most heartbreakingly of all, she had the same honey eyes, hers wide and watery as she gaped around our somewhat dismal studio.

Mom greeted the brother with a smile and hobbled over to shake his hand, which he returned without hesitation, momentarily dropping his bad-boy swagger. He was unshaken by Mom's uneven gait, which was a relief; I could already tell from they way his face lit up when he talked to her (looking straight down) that he was uncommonly compassionate for a boy his age.

…Kind of like Nathaniel.

After they exchanged introductions and chatted for a bit, Mom turned to me and fingerspelled their names. **The little one is I-A-N-A. She's five. And this is D-A-J-A-N. He's ****_your_**** age**, she said with a knowing wink.** Their mom is going to be here later, once she gets off work.**

So _that's_ his name. Dajan.

Now I _know_ I've seen that name somewhere before…

I turned his name over and over in my mind, but I still couldn't find where I knew it from. Utterly perplexed, I shied away and went to adjust Mom's tripod so that her camera sat at a higher angle.

**Good thinking**, Mom signed to me over her shoulder when she saw what I was doing.

**What setup do you want to go with first?** I asked, distractedly reaching to pull down the appropriate backdrop.

I could _feel_ Dajan's eyes on me as Mom and I signed back and forth. He watched us both carefully, politely, and with considerably more interest than most other hearing people did.

**Plain white**, Mom decided.** First I want to take a few of them standing just like this. It makes for a cute comparison, since he's a ****_giant_**** and she's so ****_little_****.**

I rolled my eyes. Why did I feel so offended by Mom's suggestion? **Mom, I don't want you to make him do that. Don't you think he has to put up with enough crap about his height? He probably can't go anywhere without someone saying something about it. And besides, I thought the whole point of having portraits taken with his little sister is to bring them together, not set them apart. Isn't that what you said their mom wanted?**

Mom smiled, genuinely impressed. **I think you're right. You're pretty good at this, Kiddo.**

I smiled back, appreciative of her understanding. She knew all too well what it was like to be set apart for being different.

**In that case, go get me one of those tall director's chairs so we can try a few with her up on his level**, Mom requested.** Then maybe we'll try some with both of them sitting on the ground.**

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dajan kneel down beside Iana, presumably to whisper something in her ear. But he didn't.

He pointed at me.

**See that pretty girl right there?** he signed, slowly and carefully, so that she could understand. **That girl is deaf, just like you.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Smile Like You Mean It**

There was _another_ family in town that used sign language? I thought we were the only ones!

It was a freeing feeling, knowing there was someone else I could talk to—I mean _really_ talk to, without the lag and annoyance that accompanied writing or texting. Someone my own age. Someone…_incredibly_ hot…

My short-lived elation was soon taken over by annoyance.

Wait a second—he could sign _this whole time_, and he didn't _say_ anything?

That means he must have seen the conversation I had with Mom about his height—and understood _every word_.

I felt my face catch fire as I blushed fiercely.

Iana gesticulated back up at Dajan with a bitter frown. **I'm ****_not_**** deaf**, she insisted. **I can ****_hear_****—like ****_you_****.**

**She was born deaf**, Dajan explained to Mom, wavering slightly, his lips forming the words along with his hands, **but with the implant she can hear…a little bit.**

I fought through the fear and embarrassment and walked over to where he was crouched next to his sister.

Now that I was closer, I could see the neutral-colored Cochlear implant on the back right side of Iana's head, inconspicuously hidden among the red and white barrettes at the ends of her braided pigtails. I was offered the option of a Cochlear implant when I was about Iana's age—the magic device that would allow me to 'hear' mumbling and buzzing that still wasn't remotely close to what 'everyone else' could hear. Mom left the decision entirely up to me and Dad—and Dad reasoned that since I had never been able to hear in the first place, I wasn't missing out on anything by not getting one. So the chance passed by, and I stayed the way I had always been with no regrets.

Mom didn't seem annoyed with Dajan like I was; quite the contrary, she was tickled pink. **We're going to have so much fun, Princess!** she signed to Iana. With a child in the studio, she was back in her element. **Are you excited to get your pictures taken?**

Iana shook her pigtails no and dove into her brother's arms, hiding her face in his uniform.

I sank to my knees in front of Dajan and reached out to tap her shoulder, my hand coming within inches of his face. I shook off my nervous jitters and put on a soft, friendly smile. **You don't have to be shy**, I told her slowly—and chanced a glance at Dajan, who watched me attentively.

**What if Jo took some pictures of your brother by himself first? **Mom suggested. **He'll show you how easy it is. You and I can stay here and watch.**

Mom, what are you _doing_? Sure, that would probably make _Iana_ feel less embarrassed—but what about _me_?

Iana blinked her huge eyes and looked from my Mom to me, then back again, and gave her a sheepish nod.

Dajan, relinquished of his little sister's clinging arms, rose to his full height.

I stood up too, brushing a smudge of sawdust off my shirt, and motioned for him to follow me. I would have given anything to teleport home and change out of my frumpy yoga capris and tattered, baggy panda t-shirt from the National Zoo. I'd cut the neckline of the old shirt so that it fell off one shoulder, exposing one of the straps of my black sports bra. I was not remotely prepared to spend the afternoon under the scrutiny of such an exquisitely attractive boy.

I was positive I looked a mess, but Dajan still described me as 'that pretty girl'—and he probably meant for me to notice.

Was he using his little sister as a prop to subtly hit on me?

Get a grip, Johanna. Not every guy is that complex.

As a matter of fact, from _my_ experience, _very few_ guys are that complex. They need food, sleep, and _one other thing_—and with those needs met, they really don't care about anything else.

I tried to push distracting thoughts about that _one other thing_ out of my mind, but with Dajan following right behind me, they kept resurfacing.

We made our way to the back and showed him where to stand, pointing to a spot on the floor with my toe.

With him in front of the camera, and me behind it, I felt empowered, and I found my courage again. **So**, I said drolly, **my hero from the House of Mirrors can sign.**

His reaction was nothing like what I expected. **I'm sorry**, he said sincerely. **Last night, I wasn't sure if you were deaf or not. **His sign language was choppy, awkward, and hard to follow. He must have been fairly new at it. **I thought you were deaf, because she hit you in the face—like, ****_really_**** hard—and you didn't even make a sound.**

Here's my chance.** She? **I asked nonchalantly. **You mean your girlfriend?**

**Girlfriend?** he echoed, his fingers fumbling to imitate the way mine so effortlessly formed the word. I could tell from the way his brows furrowed that he didn't know what the sign meant.

Do I have to spell it out for you, Hero?

I fingerspelled 'girlfriend,' his eyes racing to keep up—and his smile doubled in size when the realization sank in.

**No, no—I don't have a girlfriend.**

So that horrendous bitch of a blonde who was all over him at the carnival _wasn't_ his girlfriend? I guess that's a relief.

Who _was_ she, then?

**Oh, sorry. My mistake**, I signed with an innocent shrug, snapping a picture of his jocular smile without warning him first.

Dajan blinked his long lashes, trying to rid his eyes of spots from the sudden flash.

Maybe it was just because I was tired and hungry, but he was being so adorable I wanted to drizzle him with powdered sugar and eat him up.

**Your name…** he signed to me once he regained use of his eyes. **It's J-O-A-N-N-A, right?**

**J-O-****_H_****-A-N-N-A**, I corrected him. **But J-O is my name-sign. It's shorter and easier.**

**Okay, Jo**, he agreed. **You can call me D.J. That's what Little Sis calls me.**

**Okay**, I confirmed.** D.J.** I liked his name-sign. It was quirky and boyish, and—like so much else about him—so, _so_ cute.

In summary, we went from being complete strangers to a first-name basis, then to a nickname basis—all in less than five minutes.

Meanwhile, Mom and Iana's attention was elsewhere; Mom was regaling her with 'The Isty Bitsy Spider,' and the little girl jumped in and signed along because she already knew all the words.

This whole studio thing might just work out after all, if we could work as a team. Getting little kids to smile was Mom's thing. Getting hot boys to smile was my thing.

I turned my attention back to D.J. His basketball uniform was flattering, but there was a certain tackiness, a fakeness about it that I didn't like. He was such a photogenic subject I wanted the chance to take pictures of him wearing something more…_suitable_. **Don't you have a change of regular clothes you'd rather wear?** I asked, scrunching up my face.

Dajan glanced down at his uniform quizzically, his pierced brow arcing in confusion. **What do you want me to wear?**

**Wear what you ****_want_**, I laughed. **I just thought you would want a few pictures taken of you wearing something different, just for the photo shoot—**

**You sign ****_so fast_**, he said with clumsy hands.

**Sorry**, I apologized.

I talk fast when I'm…nervous.

**Are you going to change clothes?** I tried again, spacing out the signs so that he could see them clearly.

**Change clothes?** He glanced around with shifty eyes—over his shoulders, over to Mom and Iana, then back to me. **You mean right here?**

I burst into laughter. **No! I meant… Oh, never ****_mind_****!**

He _still_ didn't understand, his smile cracking into an awkward laugh—which made for another priceless picture, but I wasn't any closer to getting him out of those clothes.

…And into different clothes. That's what I meant.

I thought of giving up and just writing to him, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings. At least he was _trying_. I guess my sign language would be sloppy, too, if I mainly used it to talk to a five-year-old.

Well, if I couldn't get him to change clothes, I could at least change the environment around him. **This white isn't doing it for me**, I said, sort of to Dajan, bust mostly to Mom, who looked on while she waited in the wings with Iana. I came out from behind the camera and reached up to choose a softer backdrop, straining to reach it on tiptoe—but Dajan beat me to it, pulling down the one I wanted just as my fingers brushed the handle, his hand briefly grazing mine.

I rolled my eyes to hide the fact that his touch made me shudder, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling up. **Thanks, but I could have done that myself. I'm not ****_helpless_****.**

**You're welcome**, he responded cockily. He must have only understood my 'thank you,' and not much else.

I chose flattering amber-colored filters for the glaring white overhead lights. The glow they cast against the new backdrop emulated the color of his eyes, and when he stood against it, they practically glistened.

I turned to see if Iana seemed receptive to getting her pictures taken now. **Are you ready?** I motioned to her.

Dajan crouched down and held out his arms, and Iana scurried across the floor to join him, her own arms outstretched, her smile beaming and toothy and perfect. All I had to do was press a button, and that moment was successfully captured. I couldn't have staged a better shot if I tried.

The ice broken and Iana over her shyness, the rest of the photo shoot went even better with Mom behind the camera. She snapped shot after shot of Iana and Dajan sitting on the floor, interacting like they normally would—like the pictures of deaf kids from her portfolio. Dajan was a natural; having Iana there must have brought out the best in him.

Without meaning to, I noticed that he'd moved in such a way that cast a dark shadow under his chin, obscuring part of Iana's face.

**D.J.**, I signaled, **move your head to the left just a little.**

He acknowledged my suggestion and tilted his head, but to _my_ left instead of _his_, which only made the shadow darker.

I frowned and shook my head. **Here, let me show you.**

That's when I stepped in—er, crawled in—lifting his chin slightly up with the tips of my fingers, just barely touching him.

All the while, I tried to keep my face blank and unreadable—but in my head, I was making all kinds of observations about Dajan Asad I wouldn't want my mother to know about.

Most people have five or six smiles: a transparent posing-for-a-picture smile, a laughing-at-something-funny smile, a so-happy-I-could-cry smile, a fake smile, a spiteful smile, and that's about it.

But D.J.? He must have had hundreds. Each one I'd seen so far was different, each one more genuine than the last.

The smile he gave me the first time I touched him (on purpose) cleaved my heart in two, and I couldn't help but smile back.

_Flash!_

Mom took the picture, and now _that_ moment was preserved forever, too.

I glared back at her, shooting her a rare a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you smile.

**That's going in my portfolio**, she said smugly.

Iana found the whole thing very amusing, too, and giggled uncontrollably.

Dajan and Mom were distracted by something at the front of the studio, and they turned their heads to see what it was.

_Hi, Mom_, said Dajan's mouth.

…So, just to recap: first names, nicknames, awkward touching, a photograph _commemorating_ the awkward touching—and now I'm meeting his mother.

She looked way too young to have a seventeen-year-old's son—probably because her skin was as beautiful and radiant as D.J.'s, and the same sienna color. She would have been the same height as me without her three-inch heels, in which she moved as efficiently and effortlessly as I could in sneakers.

_I'm so sorry I'm late_, she said to Mom, dropping her over-full leather handbag into an empty chair against the wall. Her lips yammered on, probably offering Mom some kind of explanation for her tardiness. It was clear she had just come from work, since she was dressed professionally, a government identification badge hanging around her neck. It read 'Desirée Asad' and specified that she worked in 'Family Crisis Intervention.'

Mom assured her that it was perfectly fine, and that there was no need to rush; we didn't have anything else planned for the rest of the day—and we were having _so much fun_.

Iana scuttled across the floor in her tiny sandaled feet to hug her mother. **Mommy, Mrs. Q. and Jo can sign like us**, she announced proudly.

Dajan's mom was flabbergasted. **They ****_can_****?**

**We can! Obviously, since we talked on the phone, you know that ****_I'm_**** hearing, but my husband and my daughter are deaf**, Mom explained. **This is J-O-H-A-N-N-A, my daughter. Jo, this is Ms. A-S-A-D.**

**Please, call me D-ES-I-R-E-E**, Ms. Asad insisted. **It's so good to meet you! **She unquestioningly threw a warm hug around my neck, enveloping me in the warm vanilla smell of her perfume. **This is too perfect! I'm so glad you're here!**

**I'm glad to be here**, I said sincerely.

Sweet Amoris was starting to feel more and more like home every day. With Desirée here, it felt less like a photo shoot and more like a family gathering. Mom showed her the pictures we'd taken, and she was overjoyed with all of them—especially the candid shots.

I didn't even realize Dajan had left his spot on the backdrop and was standing right behind me, watching as Mom scrolled through the pictures on the camera's digital display. He stood with his hands on his hips—and when I turned to face him, his elbow nudged in between my shoulder blades by accident.

_Sorry_, he said coyly, and took a step back.

Desirée glanced back at us—or _up_ at Dajan—and frowned when her eyes fell on his face. She said something to him out loud that made him recoil slightly.

He shot a defensive hand up to his eyebrow and argued, _but I _can't_ take it out, or it'll heal_, his tongue lingering on the final 'L.'

Ah. She must not have approved of him to wearing his piercing for the portrait sitting.

Ms. Asad rolled her eyes and turned back to reviewing Mom's pictures.

**_I_**** think it looks good**, I offered as a genuine compliment.

He thanked me, beaming brightly. **I just got it.**

**Did it hurt? **I humored him.

**Not really**, he snubbed. **I think ****_you'd_**** look cute with one.**

**No ****_thanks_****!** I shot back with an avid shake of my head. I hadn't even bothered to get my ears pierced, let alone other parts of my body.

Too abashed to look up at D.J.'s eyes again, my attention strayed, and I saw the tail end of a conversation _his_ mom was having with _my_ Mom about him as though he weren't even here. **I can't ****_ever_**** get him to smile for real in pictures**, she exaggerated. **What's your secret?**

Mom tilted her head over her shoulder at me, not realizing I was watching her.

**Oh, ****_I_**** see.** Desirée nodded gravely.

There was another commotion at the front of the store—or at least that's what I assumed when the hearing people (Mom, Ms. Asad, and Dajan) turned to greet someone as they came through the door.

Dad was back—and following right behind him was Nathaniel.


	9. Chapter 9

**Subtleties**

Dad looked much better now that he'd had the chance to rest. Nathaniel followed behind him shyly, his eyes softening when they found me. I waved to both of them enthusiastically, motioning for them to come join us.

**How'd the shoot go, girls?** Dad asked as he made his way to the back.

**Very well, I think**, I answered. **We've even made some new friends.**

Mom must have been waving at him from behind me. I saw his beady eyes shift to look at her from behind the glare the umbrella lights cast on his glasses lenses. He went to join Mom, Desirée and Iana further back, leaving Nathaniel, Dajan, and me in front of the cash wrap.

I, for one, was thrilled to see Nathaniel. I didn't expect him to drop by; I assumed he would be too tired to do anything until later. His blond hair fell over his eyes in still-damp tendrils, and he sent a waft of intoxicating shower-fresh smells to my eager nose when he moved. I sort of wanted to hug him, but I decided I probably shouldn't.

He returned my smile and wave, but hesitated when he saw who stood beside me. _Dajan_. Nathaniel's face formed his name with a tinge of bitterness.

Curious, I looked up to see if D.J. would have a similar reaction. The name he used for Nathaniel was shorter—one syllable. _Nate_, I think, or maybe _Nat_ or _Nath_. It was hard to tell, since he kept his jaw mostly still, talking through clenched teeth. He forced a smile—which was nothing like the bright, beaming, laughing smiles I'd captured on camera—and held out a hand for a stiff shake, which Nathaniel was obliged to return.

Nathaniel held his face in a quizzical expression, looking back and forth between Dajan and me.

They already seemed to know each other, so I didn't introduce them.** He's my neighbor**, I told Dajan. **He's really sweet. We met the day I got here. We pretty much became instant friends.**

**_Friends?_** Dajan glanced down at me flirtatiously. **Are you ****_sure_**** about that?**

**Yeah, D.J., he's my ****_friend_****.** I swatted his arm playfully. **Am I not allowed to have other ****_friends_**** in this town besides you?**

I'd completely forgotten about poor Nathaniel. The longer Dajan and I exchanged complicated gestures he couldn't understand, the more upset he became. A bluish wash fell over his face as he gaped around the studio—at Mom, who was introducing Dad and exchanging pleasantries with Desirée and Iana—and at me, who was ignoring him completely and talking to Dajan about him in the third person without him even knowing.

**Hold on just a second**, I signaled to Nathaniel contritely, hoping Dajan would fill him in—but Dajan just shrugged uncaringly.

Both of them stared at me helplessly as I climbed on top of the cash wrap and reached behind it to retrieve my phone from its hiding place in the empty drawer. My heart broke a little bit when I realized Nathaniel had sent me three texts in the past hour, and I had been too busy with Dajan to even read them.

I pulled my feet under me and perched in a comfortable sitting position on the countertop, unconcerned about the smears of sawdust that came off my shoes. "You're such a liar, Nathaniel Wiess," I typed, glaring at him teasingly. "You said no one at the high school can sign, and Dajan Asad can!"

He wasn't as receptive as I'd hoped he would be. Maybe I shouldn't have poked fun at him when he was already on the defensive. "I didn't know he knew sign language," he shot back, trying to hide his frustration with a too-small smile.

I glanced at Dajan briefly, but turned my attention to Nathaniel. "I know you wouldn't have lied to me on purpose," I wrote back apologetically. "I'm glad you're here now. I've missed you today."

It was definitely _true _that I missed him and I couldn't stop thinking about him, but wondered if telling him that upfront was a little…_too_ upfront.

I couldn't dwell on that for long, though, because now Dajan was the one who felt left out. **Talking about me?** he asked wryly—clearly annoyed, but still smiling.

I set my phone down on the counter to free up my hands while I waited for Nathaniel's reply. **Only good things, of course**, I answered him. I guess that was sort of a lie; I'd dropped the subject of Dajan Asad with Nathaniel almost immediately since talking about him only seemed to piss him off.

Likewise, Dajan's smile was disappearing behind an insecure frown. **He doesn't like me**, he said bluntly.

That much was obvious by the way they acted around each other—but _why_ wouldn't Nathaniel like Dajan?

**What's not to like?** I asked Dajan.

He needed clarification. **What do you mean?** **About me, or about him?**

**Either of you!** **I like you both. Why can't you be friends?**

He had no idea how to respond. He just squinted down at me, tilting his head like I'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Or the stupidest thing he'd ever _seen_, more accurately.

…Ugh. I just want to get out of here! Who knew _boys_ could be so…_moody_? I felt like if I said the wrong thing to either of them, I'd be 'losing points' somehow.

Nathaniel read my mind. "I've missed you, too," said his next text, which made me smile mushily when I read the words. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, and I'm starving!" I answered, relieved that there was now an avenue of escape. "Let me wheedle some money out of my mother. I'll be right back."

He didn't seem thrilled with the prospect of being left alone with Dajan, but before he could stop me, I hopped down from the counter and left the two boys to carry out what must have been a trite, awkward, out-loud conversation.

When she saw me approaching, Desirée flagged me down and handed me one of her business cards. **Jo, Honey, can I call on you to tutor Iana over the summer? She needs some extra help with reading and signing before she starts kindergarten in the fall**.

**Sure, I'd love to!** I was flattered that she would want me to tutor her daughter, so much so that it was kind of intimidating, but there was no way I could refuse. Iana was a sweet, adorable little girl—and getting closer to her meant getting closer to her sweet, adorable older brother.

**Great!** She threw up both hands gleefully. **My cell phone number is on the front—and I wrote D.J's on the back.**

Um…

**Thank you!** I signed quickly.

Subtle, Dajan's mom. Very subtle.

While Desirée shouldered her handbag and fussed over Iana, preparing to leave, I got the attention of my own mother.

**Mom, can I go out to lunch with Nathaniel? Please?** I asked her, making sure to wear my very best begging face.

She dove straight into Question Number Two of the dreaded Three Questions. **What time are you coming back?**

**Um, I don't know, an hour or two?** I threw out vaguely. **Will you still be here to give us a ride home if we come back at three-thirty?**

Mom seemed to think that was reasonable enough. **Yes, that's fine.**

**Thanks, Mom. I'll see you then.** Oh—I forgot to ask her for money. **Hey, don't I get paid for getting the subject to smile during your first-ever photo shoot?**

**You sure do!** She reached up and patted the top of my head condescendingly. **Good work today, Kiddo!**

**Very funny**. **Come ****_on_****—don't I at least get enough for lunch?**

Dad shook his head and took two twenties out of his wallet. **That's for Neighbor Kid, for mowing our lawn. ****_He_**** can buy you lunch.**

**Thanks!** I snatched the money out of Dad's hand.

Now that I had money, there was nothing stopping me from bolting out the door.

…Oh, yeah. Except Dajan.

**Hey**, I tapped his elbow when I returned to the cash wrap. **My neighbor/friend is taking me to lunch. I'd invite you to come with us, but…** But he sort of hates you for some reason.

He smiled and laughed, catching on to my sarcasm. **No, it's okay. See you soon.**

'Soon,' huh? **Really? How soon?**

**Later**, he said even more obscurely. **It was nice to meet you.**

**You too.** Oh, was it _ever_ nice to meet _you_, Dajan Asad.

I tilted my head at Nathaniel and propelled myself to the door, pulling myself away from Dajan's magnetic stare.

_Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Quirke_, Nathaniel said politely over his shoulder, holding the door open for me—but he didn't offer Dajan the same courtesy.

I'd taken for granted how stuffy the new studio was compared to the airy summer afternoon outside—exactly what I needed after being shut in all morning. I strode beside Nathaniel on the sidewalk as he carefully navigated around trees, bike racks, and fire hydrants, his hands and eyes busy composing a text. "Sorry it took so long for me to catch up with you," it read, reaching my phone after a few seconds' delay. "I had to mow your lawn first. And my lawn."

I remembered I still held Nathaniel's payment clutched in my greedy hand, and I opened the crinkled bills, smoothing them out as best I could, before I held them out to him.

He tried to refuse it, smiling my favorite boyish, low-lashed smile and insisting _they don't have to pay me anything_. I stopped him dead in his tracks, though, when I forcefully shoved the money into his back pocket, his mouth issuing no complaints whatsoever when I accidentally ran into him.

"Where are you taking me for lunch?" I typed with giddy, shaking fingers once I righted myself.

Why am I shaking again? Fatigue? Hunger? Or is it just from Nathaniel being…Nathaniel?

"Italian?" came his answer. "It's only a few blocks from here."

How did Nathaniel know me so well already after only a week? I _loved_ pasta, and I ate it up whenever the opportunity presented itself, as hungrily as I would the attention of a hot boy. Here was my chance to help myself to a serving of _both_ at the same time!

My only regret about this situation was not having a chance to go home and shower; I probably smelled like soggy cardboard, whereas Nathaniel smelled incredible. "Are you sure they'll seat me looking like this?" I texted anxiously. "I'm all gross and sweaty."

"I think you look fine," he assured me, even though I knew he was just being polite. Nonetheless, he used the opportunity to conspicuously check me out while I read the text—his eyes inspecting me, his mouth curling into a smile when he liked what he saw.

This late in the afternoon, there weren't many occupied tables at Ciro's, the little Italian bistro. The smiley hostess recognized Nathaniel and called him by name. She offered us the option to sit on the shaded patio, to which I happily agreed.

I understood immediately why Nathaniel wanted to bring me here. The tabletops were all protected with disposable butcher paper, which was meant to be colored, doodled, and written on. He came prepared, digging a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. Before he could write something to me, though, a waitress approached our table and asked a question out loud, expectantly waiting for one of us to answer. She seemed slightly confused when she saw that Nathaniel and I chose to sit side-by-side as opposed to across from each other.

Nathaniel hesitated and looked over at me.

I took his pen and wrote, "Sprite, if they have it," assuming she wanted our drink orders.

I assumed correctly, and she nodded and scurried away, leaving us alone again.

Now that Nathaniel was in a better mood, I decided to test the waters; I wanted desperately to get to the bottom of why he seemed to hold a grudge against my new friend Dajan. "I take it you know each other? You and Dajan Asad?"

He wasn't pleased to see I'd brought him up again, but he answered—probably for the sake of getting it out of the way. "You could say that. He's my sister Amber's boyfriend, I think."

Wait a second. (1) That glittery, trashy blonde bitch is _related_ to my sweet Nathaniel? (2) Dajan is her _boyfriend_? (He _thinks_?) And therefore she is his _girlfriend_?

Why did Dajan go out of his way to clarify that he _didn't_ have a girlfriend? He pretended not to even know the meaning of the word 'girlfriend.'

…I guess Dajan and Amber have two very different definitions of their relationship.

Either that, or Dajan blatantly lied to me, thinking he could flirt with me on the side and it wouldn't get back to Amber.

At least now it was easier for me to understand why there was some preexisting animosity between Nathaniel and Dajan. Nathaniel struck me as the 'protective older brother' type and would probably feel defensive of Amber even if she was dating one of the nicest people on Earth—which, in my opinion, she was.

Which reminds me of what I originally wondered when I first met Dajan at the carnival: what does he see in a brat like Amber?

"That explains a lot," was all I wrote back to Nathaniel, digging the pen into paper tablecloth so hard it ripped through when I dotted the lower-case 'I.'

Just in time, the waitress came back with a fizzing Sprite for me and a Coke for Nathaniel.

I hadn't even bothered to leaf through the menu the hostess gave us—and neither had Nathaniel, since he already seemed to know what he wanted. As much as I loved pasta, I pointed to a Cesar salad instead, because it would be cool and refreshing.

The waitress was thoroughly perplexed by my silence.

_She's deaf_, I saw Nathaniel explain, slightly embarrassed—even though there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed for me. I certainly hoped he wasn't embarrassed _of_ me.

_Oh!_ the waitress said when she finally understood.

When she left again, Nathaniel asked for the pen back, changing the subject to something more pleasant. "What do you normally do for the Fourth of July?"

"It's funny you should ask," I wrote, snaking around where his glass left a ring of moisture on the paper. "The Fourth is my birthday."

"Seriously? You were born on the Fourth of July? That's awesome!" His initial excitement faded. "So you probably have plans with your family," he jotted, the disappointment on his face adorably obvious.

"Actually, no. I don't want to hang around my Mom and Dad all day. It's called Independence Day for a reason!" I couldn't believe he found my lame pun funny enough to actually crack a smile. "I was hoping you could offer me some options. What do Sweet Amoris kids do for fun on the Fourth?"

"It's nothing special, but some friends from high school are getting together to set off fireworks. I was hoping you'd come with me."

A fantasy materialized in my mind as he handed me the pen and awaited my response.

Setting stuff on fire with a bunch of Nathaniel's friends? Potentially spending some quality alone time with Nathaniel under the stars, watching the fireworks?

"Count me in!" I accepted.

I could already taste the electric excitement in the air, and when I breathed it in, it set my heart on fire and sent the butterflies in my stomach reeling.

Now I was almost too excited to eat. …Almost. To my delight, Nathaniel had ordered bruschetta, too, which he was glad to share with me. Delicious though it was, I was sure it wasn't the ripe red tomatoes that were making my mouth water; that had more to do with Nathaniel's bare knee touching mine under the table, and the way the breeze played with his bangs as they dried in the open air.

"Just one more thing," Nathaniel wrote, taking up the pen between slices of bruschetta. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I think it'd be best if you didn't invite Dajan to come with us on the Fourth."

I'd been secretly considering it; it would have been kind of nice to have someone who could sign around, especially in the midst of a large group. But I guess that was out of the question now.

There must have been some other reason for Nathaniel to dislike Dajan, if he didn't even want him around.

"Sure, Nathaniel. I understand," I wrote—even though I really didn't.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** In this chapter, I mention a few things I did in "Sand, Sugar, and Salt" that might not (and probably won't) make sense to those of you who didn't read it in all its 60k+-word glory (which most of you understandably haven't).

(1) Castiel used to live in the house that is now Johanna's, and his memories of the house are not pleasant. Oh, and Nathaniel and Castiel are friends again. (They're bros now.)

(2) Amber and Dajan went to prom together last year, but Amber just sort of left him hanging and went for Castiel instead. With nothing else to do, Dajan asked Candace, my first OC, to dance with him just for fun. (That Candace—she's a saucy little minx!)

Hopefully that helps.

Thank you so, so much for reading and giving feedback! I hope you have as much fun with it was I do. Xoxo ~ binaryguppy

* * *

**Petals**

I couldn't remember much about the nightmare—just feelings, really.

I felt so overwhelmingly humiliated. All I wanted was to be alone with my misery. But I wasn't alone.

Please! Just leave me alone…

A buzzing under my pillow stirred me, interrupting the dream, and the bad feelings faded away to harmless nothingness. My numb, clumsy fingers found my cell phone and my mood soared when I read the text.

"Happy birthday! I can't wait to see you later."

Nathaniel, of course. It seemed like he was the right answer to everything, lately. I fell asleep last night in the middle of another flirtatious text message exchange, which was becoming the norm for us. I didn't dare ask him to sneak out of his house again, for fear he would get caught—but I secretly wished he would take the initiative.

"Me neither!" I typed back. I couldn't possibly tell him how true that was, but I hinted at it by ending the text with a winky semicolon smiley face. I quite literally _could not_ wait to see him. Was it pathetic that even the promise of cake, ice cream, and presents was not enough to keep me satiated until I could be with him later in the afternoon? I thought it was.

Every year, my birthday cake is iced in red, white, and blue buttercream—which means purple teeth in every present-opening picture Mom takes. Last year on my seventeenth birthday, I got mall spending money, a new pair of jeans, and not much else. This year, for the big one-eight, the presents were considerably better. I got a few shirts and a pair of shorts of my mother's choosing, and a pink bottle of tangy-smelling apple-peony perfume.

The custom class ring I ordered from my old high school finally came in the mail, and I was excited to finally see it. I chose my birthstone, a red ruby, in a starburst cut for the center. On one side of the silver setting was my name and 'class of 2014'; on the other was the insignia of my former gymnastics team. Even though I didn't graduate from the School for the Deaf in Virginia, I was glad to have something from my hometown to carry with me when I started my new life in Sweet Amoris. It fit perfectly when I slipped it onto my left ring finger.

I was most excited, though, about my brand new laptop.

**It's so that you can take home school classes online**, Mom said straight-faced as I turned the pristine white packaging over to read it.

**Yeah, okay**, I agreed distractedly, unable to stop smiling. As eager as I was to open it and set it up, it would have to wait until I got back later tonight.

I thought it would be a good gesture to invite Nathaniel's friends to the house before we went…wherever we were going…to do whatever it was we were doing. I still had no idea what the Fourth of July was like in Sweet Amoris. It hadn't even occurred to me to ask Nathaniel for details; as long as I was with him, I knew I would have fun. Anyway, it would help put Mom and Dad's minds at ease if they could meet these friends of his before they turned me loose.

Mom heard something—a knock, or maybe the doorbell—and got up from the living room couch to see who it was. I assumed Nathaniel would be first to arrive, since he only lived two doors down, but Candace and Dakota were first. Candace wore glasses with trendy plastic frames that she didn't have on the last time I saw her. I thought it would be a little bit awkward without Nathaniel there, but she was as comfortable with writing to me as he was. She even brought her own notebook with her specifically so that she could talk to me. "We don't know what you like, so we brought you a gift card," she apologized, settling next to me on the loveseat.

Their relationship must have been pretty serious; the card was signed 'Candy and Dake,' one indivisible unit. I was astounded that she even knew it was my birthday. Nathaniel must have told her. "Thank you!" I wrote back. "You honestly didn't have to bring me anything at all."

"This is bizarre," she wrote after gaping around the room. "Your house is the same floor plan as Nathaniel's, only it's the mirror image."

Dakota—or 'Dake,' I guess—was making himself right at home. He found the cake and had already swallowed most of a corner slice before it even occurred to me to offer him some.

Candace showed me another note. "I'm sorry about him in advance. He acts kind of weird sometimes. I think it's from prolonged sun poisoning and head trauma."

I wasn't sure if she was being serious or not, so I kept my smile as neutral and non-offensive as possible.

Dad looked on, slightly suspicious. He clearly didn't appreciate Dakota's tattoos.

**Don't worry about him, Dad**, I signed, thankful that neither Candace nor Dakota could understand. **He's a sweetheart. He's harmless.**

**A ****_sweetheart_****, huh?** Dad's forehead furrowed disapprovingly. **What about that other kid? The athlete? The one who can sign?**

**Who, D-A-J-A-N?** I spelled.

**Yeah, him!** Dad nodded when he recognized the name. **Is he coming, too?**

Ever since Dad met Dajan at the studio, he hasn't stopped talking about him. I swear, he's worse than _me_.

**No, not this time**, I said, much to Dad's chagrin.

**That's too bad**, he tisked. **I like him.**

You like him…better than Dakota? Better than Nathaniel? Is _that_ what you mean, Dad?

As Candace penned another sentence for me to read, Dakota squeezed in beside her on the loveseat, jostling her roughly and turning the word she was writing into a mess of scribbles.

_Head trauma?_ he read from the notebook, frowning.

"And I love him ever so much," she added, her eyelashes fluttering under her glasses lenses.

Dakota vocalized his approval through a mouthful of cake. He 'booped' her nose with the tip of his finger, smearing it with blue icing.

Ew. Don't start that again, you two…

Candace swatted Dakota's hands away (but it didn't look like she was trying _too_ hard to get him to stop touching her) long enough to write me another question. "Have you been to the beach here in town yet?"

The beach? Is that where we're going? Awesome! I love the beach!

I shook my head no and asked for the notebook, trying to play it off like I knew that was the plan right from the start. "That reminds me, I need to go change into my swimsuit! I'll be right back." I wedged myself out from beside Candace. The loveseat wasn't meant to seat more than two people, and it was getting sort of crowded.

I gathered my birthday haul and lugged it upstairs to my room so I could change into one of my new outfits. I went with distressed denim shorts and a white tie-front button-up shirt over a cherry-patterned blue bikini that thankfully still fit from a few summers ago. It was my favorite one because the ruffles on the bikini top helped make my barely-B cups look like they could be Cs…with a little imagination and some wishful thinking. For fun, I tied my hair into low, straight pigtails on either side of my head with the tri-colored ribbons from my birthday presents, and dabbed on some of my new perfume.

Maybe the pigtails were too corny, I thought—but as usual, any insecurity I felt about what I was wearing—or about _anything_, really—disappeared when Nathaniel met me at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw me, he blushed redder than I'd ever seen him—which told me the pigtails were a good choice, after all. He wore a nerdy Captain America t-shirt with his cargo shorts, and carried a bouquet of flowers in his arm.

I was all smiles and giggles as I took the paper-wrapped bunch of flowers. I liked Nathaniel's selection: sweet red carnations, crinkly blue delphinium, and cheery white daisies. Very patriotic.

It was so weird… I wanted nothing more than to be near him all day, and now that he was here, I felt too shy to do anything except hide my face in the flowers and inhale their subtle, earthy smell.

Mom materialized behind me to greet Nathaniel. Her expression hardened slightly when she turned to talk to me.** Come in the kitchen with me so we can put those in water**, she beckoned.

**Okay**, I shrugged, reluctant to leave Nathaniel when he'd only just arrived—but I obeyed and followed her as she hobbled into the kitchen, and Nathaniel stayed behind to catch up with Candace. (He brought a hand to his own nose and laughed. _What's on your face?_ he asked her.)

**What are you and your friends up to tonight?** she asked nonchalantly, searching the cabinets for a vase.

I stood on tiptoe to get one down from a shelf that was out of her reach and set it in the counter. **We're going to the beach.**

**That sounds like fun**, she said, turning on the faucet to fill the vase. And then out of he blue: **It was ****_awfully_**** nice of Nathaniel to bring you flowers on your birthday, don't you think?** She'd taken up using the name-sign I made up for Nathaniel—an amalgamation of the signs for 'necktie' and 'neighbor'—so that I wouldn't have to keep fingerspelling his name when I talked about him…which I did quite often.

**Yes, it was nice**, I agreed, freeing the flowers from their rubber band and paper wrapping.

**It was ****_awfully_**** nice of him**, she repeated. **He seems to like you ****_a lot_****.**

I'd unwittingly walked right into a lecture. **Well, I like him a lot, too**, I said aloofly. I took up the kitchen shears and shortened the stems, squeezing the blades closed to snip off the moist ends.

**I know how you are with boys**, she said, her face completely serious. **He's sweet, but you have to remember he's leaving soon. I don't want you to get heartbroken when he ****_moves on_****.**

**Mom, I ****_know_**** Nathaniel's leaving**, I said exasperatedly. I turn eighteen years old today! I'm not some obsessed little middle-schooler, doodling his name all over my notebooks. **He's just a friend. I don't want to get into anything ****_serious_**** with him.**

That might have been a lie.

I realized something as I fed the flower stems into the vase. Maybe this was exactly why I was nuts about him—because I knew it couldn't get 'too _serious_.' Maybe I secretly wanted to find out how close to _serious_ it could get before going over the edge.

This is psychotic. I shouldn't be playing chicken with my own heart this way. And certainly not with Nathaniel's.

Leave it to my mother to take me on a guilt trip on my birthday.

**Be ****_careful_****, Kiddo**, Mom reminded me, then left me to finish arranging my flowers.

One of the daisies' stems snapped, and the flower head fell limply away from the rest of the neat arrangement. It would have been a shame to throw it away, so I carefully tucked it into my hair.

Back in the living room, I found Dakota trying (and failing) to talk to Dad, and Candace and Nathaniel looking through the windows by the front door. I came up behind them to see what was up.

"My friends Castiel and Lysander are here, too," Nathaniel wrote on Candace's notebook. "Castiel is staying outside because he smokes."

I saw two figures leaning against a beat-up green sedan in the driveway. I recognized the platinum-haired, lanky boy with unmistakable eyes from the yearbook, but I hadn't met the other one yet—the gaunt, red-haired, sour-faced one that puffed on a cigarette, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. The redhead looked absolutely miserable, and I didn't understand why.

"Tell him he can come inside once he finishes his cigarette," I wrote, hoping he didn't have some kind of weird, deep-seeded fear or hatred of the deaf. "Doesn't he like cake?" I offered feebly.

Nathaniel sighed and opened the door to shout something to Castiel. The latter lifted his head and listened. Whatever Nathaniel had to say made Castiel immediately recoil and hang his head even lower than before, shaking it avidly with a resounding, smoky _no_. The very idea of coming inside the house seemed to appall him. I didn't think it was possible, but he was turning even whiter.

He seems like an absolute delight.

"Well, it was worth a try," Nathaniel scrawled with an apologetic shrug. "It's nothing personal. They can both be a little antisocial sometimes, but they'll warm up to you. They'll have to, once they see how sweet you are." (Aw, Nathaniel!) "Have you met Lysander yet? His brother's store is next door to the studio."

Really? A _second_ handsome neighbor boy? I could get used to this!

If they weren't coming in, I'd have to go out there and introduce myself. I hurriedly said my goodbyes to Mom and Dad and assured them both at least twice that I would text them if we went anywhere besides the beach and that I would be home by midnight.

**Be ****_careful_**, Mom urged me for what was probably the hundredth time.

**Yeah, I love you, too!** I answered her—then slipped on a pair of shoes and followed everyone else out the door.

I made a beeline across the front lawn to the boys' car—but then I froze. I couldn't get anywhere near them. Between Castiel's fingers was a menthol cigarette wrapped in distinctive black paper—the same kind _he_ used to smoke.

The smell…it brought too-real images and feelings that I didn't want to revisit—not today, of all days.

So much for making a good first impression. Here I am, standing in the middle of my lawn, paralyzed, unable to get over myself long enough to tell Nathaniel's friends hello.

Castiel didn't seem to notice my strange behavior at all. Mercifully, he stamped out his cigarette and he and Lysander ducked into the car. Candace and Dakota got into a white Honda, and Nathaniel ushered me to his waiting truck. At first I thought it was excessive that we were taking three cars to go the same place—but I reasoned that Candace and Dakota, at least, had plans for the end of the evening that didn't involve the other four of us.

Perhaps that was why Nathaniel wanted to bring his own truck, too.

Flustered, I struggled to untangle the seatbelt—and I flinched when I felt a soft hand touch mine.

Nathaniel leaned over to help me buckle in, making me even more nervous, setting my face and my heart on fire. He pulled the belt taught over my lap, his hand brushing for the briefest of milliseconds across my stomach.

**Thank you**, I signed shyly.

He understood that time, and said _you're welcome_ aloud—which gave me an excuse to stare at his lips.

The truck shuddered to life, and away we went, through the subdivision, through the shopping district, past the bank, past the high school. We drove until we could literally go no further and the town abruptly ended at the rocky seashore. Since Candace and Castiel snagged the last two parking spaces at the beach's little paved lot, Nathaniel was forced to leave his truck in a grassy vacant lot—and I hoped he wouldn't get ticketed for it.

The white-gold sand of the little beach at the town's edge was only occasionally littered with tangles of dried seaweed—but it was _packed_ with people. The beach must have been the most popular place to watch the fireworks; it seemed like the whole town was there.

Candace and Dakota wove through the crowd, their bare feet nimble in the loose, inches-deep sand. They seemed to know where they were going, so Nathaniel and the boys followed, and I doddered after them, trying to keep sight of the tops of their heads in the crowd of strangers: Castiel and Candace's red, Dakota and Nathaniel's blond…and whatever Lysander was.

I jumped when I felt a gentle tug at my left pigtail, and I whirled around to see who was touching me.

**D.J.!**

The metallic bead to the end of his shortest dreadlock and his eyebrow piercing glinted in the late afternoon sun. He looked good, but he was definitely overdressed for the beach in long jeans and an expensive-looking brand-name graphic tee. How he could stand to wear basketball sneakers in the sand was beyond me; they were undoubtedly filling up with grit with every step he took. It didn't look like it bothered him, though. As a matter of fact, he seemed more concerned about what _I_ was wearing. Maybe he thought I wouldn't notice him checking me out because the sun was shining in my eyes.

**What are ****_you_**** doing here?** I signed animatedly.

**Me? I'm here to see ****_you_**, he retorted brazenly.

**Oh, really?**

**Really. Your hair looks cute like that.**

**Thank you! I thought it would be fun, just for today…**

Candace and the boys were nowhere in sight. They might not have even realized I was gone yet.

Oh, wait—there's Nathaniel. I'll catch up with him in a minute.

He had an unexpected visitor, too: his sister Amber, the blonde she-troll from the carnival.

My heart sank when I realized Dajan must be here with _her_.

Why should that upset me? I'm here with Nathaniel, aren't I?

As I watched her, Amber held an orange-palmed hand out to her brother expectantly, and she was doing this weird thing with her face. Was that her attempt at _pouting_? Was it supposed to be persuasive? Or cute? Ugh, it was painful to look at!

Nathaniel was thoroughly annoyed. He cast an apologetic glance in my direction.

I smiled at him sympathetically, trying to tell him I'd get back to him as soon as I could.

**Did you bring your ****_girlfriend_**** to come see me?** I asked D.J, only half-joking.

He was unfazed.** But I don't have a girlfriend**, he insisted.

I laughed at him, equally shameless. **Well, according to your ****_girlfriend's brother_****, you do**.

**Well, ****_her brother_**** thinks he knows everything, and he doesn't.** He held onto his smile, but I could see it slipping as he watched Nathaniel and Amber argue out of the corner of his eye. **I'm telling you, she's not my girlfriend! We went to… **He searched the beach beyond us for the right sign, but came up with nothing, so had to spell the word instead. **We went to P-R-O-M last year, but she didn't dance with me. Not even one time.**

Prom! That was it! That was where I'd seen Dajan's name before—in the yearbook, the picture of Candace dancing with a tall boy at prom!

**Why did you go to prom with ****_A-M-B-E-R_****?** I couldn't help but ask. At the same time, I was brainstorming possible name-signs for Amber; it was only fair that she have one, too, since her brother had one now. How about 'yellow'-'bitch'? Or 'bitch'-'tan'? Or just 'bitch'?

**Because she asked me to!** was his answer. **I moved here at the end of last year. I was new, and I didn't have any friends. A girl asked me to take her, and I said yes without thinking twice. I didn't know until later that…** He had to stop and think about how to from the sentence. **She only wanted me to go with her so that she could make another guy…mad? Sad? Sorry?**

**Jealous?** I suggested—signing it and spelling it, just to make sure.

**Yes! She wanted to make another guy ****_jealous_**, he said, getting accustomed to the new word. **_That_**** guy, actually. **

He pointed behind me.

The other four members of my 'birthday party' must have noticed Nathaniel and I were missing and come back to find us. Candace saw us and waved, smiling widely. She looked extremely impressed when she saw Dajan signing to me, and her mouth formed a compliment with his name in it—probably something like, _I didn't know you knew sign language, Dajan!_

Lysander, Castiel, and Dakota were all clustered around her, the first two pawing nervously at the sand with their feet, the third stooping down to whisper something in her ear that made her seize up with open-mouthed laughter.

**Wait, which guy? **I asked Dajan. Amber wanted to make one of _them_ jealous?

**Red**, he said simply—and I knew he meant Castiel.

**That's…interesting.** I wasn't sure what else I could say without getting myself into trouble.

This kept getting weirder and weirder. Amber went so far as to snag Dajan as arm candy to make _that guy_ want her? She didn't look like his type, like, _at all_. I sincerely hoped Castiel had better taste than that.

Furthermore, _Dajan_ was the arm candy in his and Amber's relationship? The more I learned about her, the less I liked her. Dajan didn't seem to like her much, either—or even care about her, since he was so willingly and blatantly flirting with me right in front of her.

**What's this?** Dajan raised a hand to my face. I thought he wanted to play with my pigtail again, but he dug into it and pulled the now wilting daisy out with surprisingly delicate fingers.

**Hey, give that back!** I grabbed for the flower and snatched it from him, but in the process, one of its white petals fluttered to the ground.

A little…

The velvety feel of the little flower's petals between my fingertips ripped me back to a sunny summer camp years ago, where my friend Shelby and I would play a fortune-telling game of our own creation. With each pull of a petal from a flower's stem, instead of just 'he loves me' or 'he loves me not'—which was too simplistic for our sophisticated eleven-year-old tastes—we alternated among five possibilities that specified _how much_ the boy in question truly did or did not love one of us.

One pulled petals while the other signed: **A little… A lot… Passionately… To madness… None at all.**

The results were always giggle-inducing—particularly if you rigged a 'to madness' result with a boy you were already crushing on.

As I held the little flower in my hand, absentmindedly pulling out its petals, I played the game in my head without even realizing what I was doing.

A lot… Passionately… To madness…

**So,** I pried, twiddling the ruined flower between my fingers, **what are you and your ****_not-girlfriend_**** doing tonight?**

None at all… A little… A lot…

**I don't know. She calls me whenever she gets bored. She asks me to drive her places because she doesn't have her…** He squinted, unable to find a sign for the word he wanted. I could tell he was starting to get frustrated. **She failed the test**, he finally said as an alternative.

**She failed her driver's test, and she doesn't have her license? **I surmised.

He nodded.

**I see.**

Passionately… To madness… None at all…

I thought maybe Dajan and Amber shared the same kind of reciprocal, flirtatious friendship that Nathaniel and I did, but I was quickly learning that our situations were entirely different. In fact, the one-sidedness of their arrangement was distressing.

**And you do whatever she tells you to? **I asked indignantly.

A little… A lot… Passionately…

He shrugged. **Yeah, I guess.**

**Why?** Did he really just _not care_? Dajan didn't strike me as that…apathetic. There must be some other reason.

To madness… None at all… A little…

The best answer he could come up with was: **I've always had a…a ****_soft spot_**** for blondes.**

The sign (literally 'yellow' and 'hair') immediately made me think of the way Nathaniel's bangs hung in his eyes, the way they still shone gold even when wet.

A lot… Passionately… To madness…

Maybe _I_ had a 'soft spot' for blonds, too—one more thing Dajan and I had in common. **I know what you mean**, I admitted.

None at all… A little… A lot…

He must have thought I was simply assuring him that I could understand his sign language. He smiled appreciatively, sweetly, his eyes lingering on my own hair. **I'm glad you understand me.**

**No, I'm glad ****_you_**** understand ****_me_****. You understand better than anyone else here**, I told him—and I meant it.

Passionately… To madness.

I was out of petals.

So…Dajan would love me 'to madness'? Or Nathaniel? I was looking at Dajan, but Nathaniel was the one who gave me the flower in the first place…

I wished I had established more clear-cut rules for this game when I was eleven. I dropped the naked flower stem onto the sand to be squished underfoot.

I suddenly felt anxious to get back to Nathaniel, and made no attempt to come up with another reason to end Dajan's and my conversation. **I think Nathaniel is waiting for me.**

Dajan blinked confusedly. **Neighbor-****_what_****?** Oh, right. He didn't know Nathaniel's name-sign.

**N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L**, I spelled. **I made him a name-sign.**

**Right**, Dajan nodded, looking slightly defeated. I was just about to turn away; I almost didn't see him sign: **I'll be waiting.**

**_What_**** was that?**

**I mean, I'll be around. Maybe you should text me. You know, when you get bored.**

Bored of Nathaniel, you mean?

I rolled my eyes, but smiled brightly—and yes, I could definitely feel myself blushing.** Bye, D.J.**, I waved.

**Bye Jo**, he waved back—and Amber appeared out of nowhere and looped her arm around his like he was an especially large accessory and dragged him away.

I felt a gentle touch at my elbow, and I started at its tickle.

It was Nathaniel, beckoning me to follow him to wherever Candace and Dakota were going.

I gave him a smile, but he didn't return it. He looked disgruntled, his eyebrows making a tiny crease when they met at the bridge of his nose. I didn't know who made him mad—Amber, Dajan, me, or all of us together—but he was clearly in a bad mood now.

Come on, don't be like that!

I reached for his hand, and watched the creases on his forehead disappear as I squeezed it gently.

Is this how Nathaniel is going to be whenever I try to make friends with anyone else besides him?

A buzz in my pocket told me I'd received a text. But from whom? Nathaniel was right there, and he didn't have his phone out…

I dug my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it with my free hand.

If it's Dad checking in with me, I'd better respond right away so he knows I'm okay. Or maybe it's Shelby or someone from back home wishing me a happy birthday.

…Or maybe it's Dajan. Maybe he's _bored _already.

But the number the text came from was unregistered—a Virginia area code with no name.

"Happy birthday, Sweet Thing. I miss having you around. Maybe I should drive up to see you someday, for old time's sake."


	11. Chapter 11

**Fireworks**

I knew who it was, even though I had long since deleted his name from my contact list.

As badly as I wanted to cuss him out, I knew better than to respond, as it would only encourage him.

Leave me alone and let me move on with my life!

What more do you want from me? What more do you think I could possibly give?

Just leave me alone…

The misery and humiliation I thought I'd left in Virginia prickled at the corners of my eyes. I brought my hands to my face to catch the wayward tears, angrily wiping them away.

Stop it. Stop crying. It's just a random text message _he _sent to get a rise out of me. _He _doesn't know where we moved. _He _couldn't find me, even if he tried…

Could he?

If I can keep it together, Nathaniel won't notice, and we can go have fun with his friends like nothing happened…

But he did notice. When my hand left his, his face soured immediately, but this time with concern instead of anger. The annoyance that had been there only seconds ago was gone completely. I turned away to hide my weepy eyes, closing out of the text and shoving my phone into my back pocket.

He followed, facing me so I could read his lips. _Johanna, what's wrong?_

Oh, my God, those eyes... Don't look at me like that, Nathaniel...

_Tell me_, he begged, touching my face with gentle hands, blocking out the world on either side. All I could see were brown eyes under furrowed brows and wispy bangs.

I couldn't tell Nathaniel—sweet, kind Nathaniel, who didn't care in the slightest that I couldn't hear. He would never think of me the same way again if he knew...about _him_.

The longer I looked at those sad brown eyes, the harder it was for me to regain control of my emotions. I hiccupped, trying to swallow what must have been audible sobs, but that only made it worse. I frantically shook my head, the ribbons on my pigtails swatting at my ears.

This wasn't at all what today was supposed to be like.

Why was I still letting _him _rule me, after I went to such great lengths to get away from him?

Nathaniel plunged into his pocket and dug out his own phone. I saw his fingers cue up Candace's name and compose a text, but between the glare from the quickly setting sun and the new tears that were welling in my eyes, I couldn't read it.

His eyes returned to mine, and he took me by both hands. His lips were trying to tell me something, too, but I… No, I couldn't read what he was saying. My eyes were still too watery. Damn it, stop crying!

Nathaniel coaxed me into moving by putting an arm around my shoulder and giving me a gentle push. My feet stumbled forward, the dry sand working its way into my shoes. He lead me back the way we came, up to the street above the bustling beach and past all the cars parked on the asphalt. His truck was waiting for us in its lonely vacant lot; it seemed no other latecomers had taken the initiative to park there.

He insisted on opening the door for me and helping me climb inside, fussing over me like I was injured. He came around the other side and slammed the door behind him. Once shut inside, he decompressed, leaning back into the driver's seat and breathing out through his mouth. The cool, dark interior of the truck was helping me relax, too. I let out a deep breath of my own and kicked off my shoes to relieve the discomfort of the sand scratching at my heels. It was clear he meant to calm me down by getting me off that crowded beach...but I had no idea where he wanted to go from here.

He didn't jam the key into the ignition to start the truck. Rather, he brought his phone out of his pocket once more. When its screen lit up in response to his touch, I saw Candace's waiting reply to the text he'd sent her a few minutes ago: "Aw, poor Johanna! Are you sure you can't stay? Cas is being weird around Dake without you here."

_Poor_ Johanna? What did he tell her—that I burst into tears for no reason and he had to take me away? What am I, a toddler throwing a tantrum at the grocery store?

He ignored Candace's text and instead opened a note-writing app. "You're scaring me, Johanna," he wrote with careful thumbs. "Please talk to me. Do you need me to take you home?" He held the phone out for me to take, obviously hoping I would write him back.

But I absolutely couldn't. I stared at the screen and racked my brain for the right words, but I couldn't find them. My fingers were mute, my thoughts static and blank. All I could do was shake my head. _No_, I can't talk to you. _No_, don't be scared. _No_, I really don't want to go home.

Nathaniel didn't understand. He was at a loss. He pinned himself against the driver's side door and stared at me as though terrified the slightest movement would set me off again. We'd always managed to find a way to communicate somehow, in spite of my deafness. Now, communication between us was completely shut down. I doubted it would help even if I _was_ able to hear.

Just then, Nathaniel's phone jittered in his still outstretched hand, indicating another incoming text. It was Candace again. "Lys forgot he was supposed to bring the fireworks." And another: "Cas won't put on sunscreen and he's already starting to burn." The texts kept coming as fast as Candace could type them. "Dake is bored and keeps trying to mess with Cas and he's pissing him off."

Nathaniel turned the phone over to read Candace's neurotic barrage of texts. Whatever he said, he said it with an exasperated eye-roll that suggested he didn't much care about Candace's predicament.

I couldn't help but crack a smile. That's more like the Nathaniel I know and... Well, the Nathaniel I've grown to _like_ over the last month.

I felt so stupid for losing control of my emotions... I just wanted to hide for the rest of the night. Maybe I _should _go home. That way Nathaniel can play on the beach with his friends like we're supposed to be doing now. God forbid Candace should have to babysit Dakota and the other two boys all by herself.

But... I didn't want to leave Nathaniel.

Sorry, Candace, but you're on your own.

I reached out to Nathaniel with an uncertain hand. I couldn't speak, but maybe he could read what I wanted to tell him in my plaintive eyes, my repentant half-smile. _I'm sorry_, I tried to tell him. _It's not your fault. I just overreacted. Please understand..._

My name parted his lips into a pout. _Johanna..._

He met my hand with his and held it, dropping his phone so that it fell facedown onto the floor. I scooted across the seat a few inches closer, and he did the same.

He didn't care enough to stoop down and pick up his phone. He didn't need it anymore. The way he held my hand told me he finally understood what I was trying to tell him. _It's okay_, he said back with a reassuring squeeze. _Everything is going to be okay._

This time, he moved closer first, and I followed suit. The space between us grew smaller and smaller until it was virtually non-existant.

With his other hand, the one that wasn't wrapped tightly around mine, he gently tossed one of my pigtails over my shoulder. _Johanna, I just—_

No, Nathaniel. Don't.

I sushed him with my fingertip, pressing into his warm lips. He obediently fell silent and held his lips still, and his jaw pulled them slightly apart as it hung slack, his eyes boring into mine.

Neither of us had to make a 'first move.' We both converged on each other at the exact same moment.

Each kiss felt as comfortable as my favorite pair of jeans, but as new and exciting as waking up on Christmas morning. No, kissing Nathaniel Weiss was like Christmas and a snow day and a parade all happening at the same time. At first he was soft, gentle, shy—his lips as kind to me while kissing as they were while talking or laughing. The taste was unlike any other I'd ever experienced. He was cool and slightly sweet like a cherry tomato—and somehow hot at the same time, like melt-in-your-mouth movie theater popcorn. We fell into the kisses deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

I needed him, and he needed me.

Suddenly, he tore his face away from mine and craned his neck to see out the back window.

I hadn't even realized the evening around us had faded completely to a cloudless black night, and the fireworks had started. We watched as green, white, gold, and red rocketed into the sky and burst into crackling embers. The arcs of color spread wider and wider until they fizzled out, only to be replaced by new colors and shapes that shot up from the ground below.

_Come on_, said his smiling mouth, and we scrambled out of the truck.

He pulled down the tailgate and hopped up onto it, beckoning for me to sit next to him. I happily sprang onto the tailgate, kicking my bare feet as they dangled from the edge. Together we watched the flashing fireworks, our faces pointed towards the sky. Every few seconds I'd catch him straining to look at me out of the corner of his eye—and the only reason I caught him was because I was doing the exact same thing.

Fireworks were great and everything, but nowhere near as explosive and exciting as what we had just dared to do. I wanted more.

We both looked left and right to make sure there was no one around. There wasn't—but even if there were, their attention would be on the fireworks show in the sky, not the one that was about to start on the tailgate.

I pulled him into another kiss, grabbing a handful of the Captain America shield on his t-shirt.

Before I could stop myself, I was drawing up comparisons in my mind between Nathaniel and my collection of boyfriends past. Although there had been quite a few, none of them were 'serious'...and none of them could kiss like Nathaniel. In fact, I found them all to be inferior to Nathaniel in every way...especially _him_, the uncouth sender of the creepiest Happy Birthday text ever. I wasn't even sure if I classified _him_ as an ex-boyfriend. I'd much rather write _him_ off as a stupid, _stupid_ mistake than all him an ex-_anything_.

I wondered how Nathaniel would 'classify' me after tonight. After this kiss ends.

...I didn't want to think about it, so I kissed him as long as he would let me. He didn't seem to want to think about it, either, because he kissed me right back, matching every subtle movement.

This kiss was different from the first. It lost momentum towards the end, and when we finally parted, there was an odd mix of emotions on Nathaniel's face. His miles-wide smile and bright red cheeks made him look as giddy and dizzy as I felt, but his forehead and eyebrows were undeniably heavy with worry, with disappointment...with regret.

The word _home_ appeared on his conflicted face—probably something like _we should go home_ or _I'll take you home_.

The fireworks were over. In the sky above, the last of the 'grand finale' disappeared, leaving only stringy trails and ragged clouds of gunpowder-smelling smoke to be blown away across the ocean by the wind.

Reluctantly, we got down from our perch on the tailgate and shut ourselves into our respective sides of the truck. I succumbed to déjà vu as the truck grumbled to life and Nathaniel drove us back to our neighborhood. This was just like the drive home after the carnival, when I walked in on him dumping Melody, and I was sure he wanted nothing more to do with me.

The drive was mercifully short. After only a few more agonizing minutes of trying not to make accidental eye contact with him, he pulled into my driveway to let me out.

I shoved my feet back into my sandy shoes, but I couldn't be bothered to pull them up over my heels. Just before I slipped out the door and set foot on the driveway, Nathaniel grabbed me, wringing a hand around my wrist and holding me in place with surprising force. He conjured a pen from the glove box in front of my seat. The cold tip dug into the soft flesh of my inner arm, and I jumped at the sensation.

When he was done writing, he let me go. _Good night_, he said.

I was unable to avoid his eyes anymore. **Good night**, I signed.

Just like before, he didn't leave until he saw that I'd gotten the front door open and stepped safely inside.

Dad was on the living room couch right where I left him, squinting at the slowly scrolling white-on-black closed captioning for a Civil War documentary. I roused him with a gentle touch on the arm and a kiss on the forehead.

Startled awake from his History Channel stupor, he jumped and clutched his chest. **Jesus Christ! Jo? What are you doing home so early?** The way he was frowning at me, it was as though coming home too _early_ was as suspicious as (if not _more_ suspicious than) coming home too _late_. **Is everything alright? What time _is_ it?**

I didn't dare unlock my phone to check the time, because then I would have to look at _his_ text again. I supposed I would have to do so eventually, if only to delete it, but now wasn't the time. Not in front of Dad.

**Oh, sure, everything's fine, Dad**, I said dismissively. **We just had a...a slight change of plans.**

He blinked, not entirely sure whether of not he believed me yet. **Did you have fun?**

**Yeah! We went to the beach and watched the fireworks.** Oh, and I totally made out with Nathaniel the Neighbor Kid. **...And it was so much _fun_! We just came back a little earlier than I thought we would, that's all.**

**Oh. Okay.** He shrugged, seemingly pleased that if nothing else I was home and in once piece. **Don't wake your mother. She went to bed early because her back started bothering her.**

**I won't**, I assured him. With that, I was dismissed and shut myself in my room.

I undid the buttons on my shirt and slipped it off over my shoulders. Simultaneously, I let the tap run in the bathroom sink, waiting for the water to get hot enough to wash my face and hands. I accidentally smudged what Nathaniel had written on my arm, but the runny blue ink was still legible. It was a jumble of numbers and letters that contained his initials and his last name.

I bet it's a screenname.

Oh, yeah! My new laptop! I'd forgotten about that, too. My hot back-of-the-truck encounter with Nathaniel must have fried a few brain cells.

It took a while for me to find the password to the wireless router, but I eventually got it hooked up correctly. It should have come as no surprise that 'njweiss121' was already signed into instant messenger and waiting for me. (What does the 'J' stand for? John? Jacob? Jack?)

When he got an IM from 'notlistening74,' he would know it was me. "It's been too long!" I teased.

But he wasn't in a teasing mood anymore. "Johanna, we need to talk about what happened."

Which thing that 'happened' did he mean: my emotional outburst on the beach, or our heated makeout session in the back of his truck? "Okay," I agreed, disheartened by his coldness. "Talk to me."

"You mean a lot to me."

I kind of already knew where this was going. "You mean a lot to me, too. There's something I want to tell you, actually, but you have to promise you won't make fun of me or think I'm crazy."

An indicator next to his screenname told me he was typing a response, but he stopped when I sent my message.

He must be waiting for me to say it first.

Okay. Here goes nothing. "You're honesty the best friend I have," I admitted.

I told him a _half_-truth, because if I told him the _whole_ truth about what I was feeling, I wouldn't be doing either of us any favors. Even if he did feel the same way, and I was almost sure he did, he would have no choice but to shoot me down just like Melody. Then even our friendship would be ruined. I couldn't risk losing the only real friend I had. My best friend.

Nathaniel's reply came lightning fast. "I feel the same way." His words-per-minute typing speed must be incredible. What a geek! "I should apologize to you for what I did."

"No, you shouldn't!" The kissing was _by far_ my favorite birthday present. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It was as much my fault as it was yours."

"If you don't think I should be sorry, then I won't be. For what it's worth, I really enjoyed myself tonight..."

...But?

"...But I think it would be best if we didn't do that anymore."

Do what? Does he mean he doesn't want to hang out with me anymore? He doesn't want to see me at all?

"Kiss. We really shouldn't kiss anymore."

Phew! "You're right," I typed back woefully. Because he was right. We really shouldn't. Nothing good could come of it. It felt too...serious. It hit too close to home.

But...he _enjoyed_ it as much as I did...didn't he?

The chat was silent for a few minutes while we both thought.

Nathaniel was the one to finally break the figurative silence. "I've never done that before," he revealed.

I giggled, absentmindedly twirling my hair. "You've never kissed anyone before?" I didn't believe that for a second. He was so good at it, he obviously had to have some form of experience.

"No! I mean, yes, I've kissed before, but not like that." His 'njweiss121 is typing' indicator flashed off and on for a few fretful seconds; he couldn't decide what to say next. Finally he settled on, "I've never lost control like that before."

I thought it was funny that he chose to word it that way. I'd been struggling with control all night. I didn't think I'd ever had full control to begin with, so I had no idea what it would be like to lose it.

I wondered what it would take for Nathaniel to relinquish what was left of _his_ control.

"Do you have a webcam?" I asked suggestively.

He confirmed that he did by turning it on. His face appeared in a new window beside our chat. His telltale smile glowed in the white light of his computer monitor. I couldn't see very much of his dark bedroom behind him, but I was able to make out the shape of a bookshelf, which was filled to almost overflowing with books.

Why was my heart racing? The last time I saw him was maybe thirty minutes ago, but it felt like I hadn't seen him in days.

I reciprocated by enabling my own webcam, and my freckly face appeared below Nathaniel's: my dim room with its bare walls and still-unpacked boxes, my pigtails still tied with ribbons, my bikini top—

Crap! I'd taken off the shirt I was wearing over my bikini top. Now Nathaniel had an unmarred full-frontal view, each little cherry on my blue-and-white swimsuit as clear as day. I guess I shouldn't have been too embarrassed; if we had played on the beach at all that night like we had originally planned, my shirt would have had to come off at some point anyway, and he would have seen me in a _wet_ bikini. (...Why did I let Nathaniel take me home early again?)

I watched his face turn ten shades of red in real-time. His hand shot up to cover his mouth, as though stifling a cry of surprise I couldn't hear.

"Sorry," I typed one-handed, and tilted the monitor so that the webcam only showed me from the neck up. Oh, _crap_—I shouldn't have said anything at all. I'm just drawing more attention to it. Now he's going to think I did that on purpose, even though I didn't...

His lips curled into a smile not unlike the one he wore just after our first kiss. "What was that for? Is it _my_ birthday, too?"

I clasped my hands over my mouth, hoping Mom was already fast asleep and that she wouldn't hear me if I was squealing out loud.

The webcam feed on his end of the chat glitched up when he moved suddenly, leaving me looking at nothing but scrambled-up pixels until it righted itself. This time, Nathaniel's shoulders were bare. "There. We're even."

I drank in the sight, following the graceful curve of his collarbone with my eyes. I hoped it looked like I was just reading. "That doesn't count!" I retorted. "I've already seen you shirtless, remember?"

He nodded. "How could I forget?" His eyes narrowed; he paused to look straight into the webcam. It felt like he was staring straight into my eyes. "How do you suggest we even things out, then?"

Was that a serious question? Is this becoming one of _those_ kinds of webcam chats?

I guess it's not technically kissing...

Nathaniel didn't seem too torn up about losing control this time around.

"You'll just have to remain in my debt for now," I typed with a shrug. "I'll call upon you to redeem the favor you owe me before the summer ends. Agreed?"

I might as well have flashed him again; he blushed even redder. "Agreed."

* * *

**A/N:** This update comes so late because I am grieving the death of my hard drive (2007-2013, R.I.P.) and all the information that was on it, since I stupidly didn't back anything up. This chapter would have been out much sooner, and in fact I was within minutes of publishing it, and then POOF, gone. ...On the bright side, I got the chance to go back and add more to it, I guess? Ah well. Tell me your thoughts/feels/predictions/questions/criticisms in a review or a PM. I always love hearing from you! ~binaryguppy


	12. Chapter 12

**Dinner Party**

The days of summer following my birthday were lazy and long. I slept until whenever Mom or Dad would force me to wake up. If they didn't need me at the studio, I could—and very often would—sleep until well past 1PM. On one such Sunday afternoon, I was busy painting my toenails purple when Mom came into my room with a proposition.

**All you ever do anymore is sit in front of that computer**, she began.

Oh, here we go again…

What was she complaining about? My leisure activities were confined to the computer (talking to Nathaniel), the occasional walk through the nature preserve or the shopping district (when Nathaniel wan't online), and painting my nails (so that they would be pretty…just in case Nathaniel decided to ask me out again). I wasn't sneaking around doing anything dangerous. It was a definite one-eighty change from what I used to do back in Virginia. Wasn't that the whole point of moving?

I carefully held the nail polish cap in my fingers as I signed back. **What do you need me to do for you? **I asked her, trying not to look facetious.

**J-A-C-K-I-E invited us over for dinner**, she said. **Why don't you come with us? It'd be nice to see you ****_actually_**** do something for once.**

**That depends…** I had important plans for later that evening—plans which consisted exclusively of chatting with Nathaniel about everything and nothing until four in the morning, or whenever I decided I couldn't possibly stay awake any longer. (I was _always_ the first to admit defeat and go to bed; he, on the other hand, could stay up all night if he wanted to.) Going to dinner at a stranger's house would cut into my Nathaniel time significantly. **Who's J-A-C-K-I-E?**

**Nathaniel's mom**, she elaborated. **Haven't I introduced you yet?**

I shook my head no.

Her face crinkled into a knowing smile. I must have started blushing as soon as she formed Nathaniel's name-sign. **In ****_that_**** case, you should ****_definitely_**** come with us. They're grilling steaks!** she added, as if that would make a difference.

I didn't care what was on the menu, as long Nathaniel would be there. **Sure!** I was already mentally scrolling through my inventory of clean outfits and deciding what to wear.

A few hours later, my nails dry and my clothes changed, I found myself gaping around the Weiss' foyer. Candace was right; it was truly bizarre, since their house was the same floor plan as ours, but with different wall colors and different furniture. It was refreshing to be in a house that felt lived-in. I graciously breathed in the waxy scent of vanilla candles mixed with savory cooking smells; the air in our own house was still heavy with settling dust and paint fumes.

Like most moms I knew, Jackie had built a photographic shrine to her children that took up an entire living room wall. Since my family opened the studio, I probably could have rationalized my interest in the pictures as purely professional. But I had to be honest with myself—I just liked catching glimpses of the younger Nathaniel I never knew. I smiled adoringly at a yearbook portrait of him from his freshman year of high school, or perhaps it was from a later year of middle school. His face was chubbier and dotted with acne, and around his neck he proudly wore one of those godawful silk ties.

There was one picture in particular that seemed out-of-place. Not framed like the others, it must have been taken out of an album and stuck into the corner of another picture's frame for safekeeping. In it, a six- or seven-year-old Nathaniel stood in the loose mulch of a playground, fiendishly yanking a helpless little Amber's blonde ponytail. I was taken aback at first, especially since he was smiling so wickedly at his sister's tearful wailing, but I reasoned that Amber probably deserved it. I knew I'd jump at the chance to rip out a handful of that brat's hair if I knew I could get away with it. … And anyway, who would take the time to snap a picture of this kind of sibling-on-sibling abuse before stepping between them and breaking it up?

On the opposite wall, the mantle was lined with sleek brushed nickel frames, each proudly displaying a recent picture. The one on the very end was my favorite: Nathaniel on the night of his high school's prom, wearing an elegant black tux, standing beside Candace in her short blue dress and Lysander in a peculiar green tailcoat. I wondered why their friend Castiel wasn't in the picture…or Dake, for that matter. I thought Dakota and Candace were attached at the hip.

I was surprised to see another familiar face on the mantle: Dajan Asad, looking sharp in a black tuxedo of his own. Admittedly, Nathaniel wore a tux better; it made Dajan look stuffy and very much out of his element. Maybe that was just because of the stiff smile he was forcing as he posed for the picture beside Amber, whose tight red prom dress was encrusted with so many sequins they cast a prismatic glare on the camera's lens.

This picture would be a lot prettier without _her_ in it, I thought with an arrogant sneer. I would never pair the two together; how they even got 'together' in the first place still baffled me. According to Nathaniel (and probably Amber), she and Dajan _were_ dating—but according to Dajan, they _weren't_. I wasn't sure which story I wanted to believe.

Speaking of Nathaniel…where _is_ he? He does _live_ here, doesn't he?

I dug my trusty phone out of my pocket. "I'm in your house," I wrote him in a text. "Guess who's coming to dinner?"

I hated how disappointed I was when he didn't text me right back—or come bounding down the stairs, or come crashing through the back door in a rush to greet me. Doesn't he know I'm here? Doesn't he _want_ to see me?

Even though we _talked_ for hours on end most nights, I couldn't help but feel as though he'd been avoiding me ever since we kissed on my birthday. He was reluctant to even turn on his webcam. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe he was trying to prepare us both for that inevitable last day of summer when he would have to leave. If that was his intention, it was smart of him…but also cruel. I missed him. I missed _seeing_ him. I missed him more than I was willing to admit.

Bored and a little depressed, I meandered through the living room into the kitchen. The moms, mine and Nathaniel's, sat at the counter and nursed stemless glasses of red wine while they talked out loud—what about, I could only guess. The dads, meanwhile, were out on the back porch, tending to the steaks and skewered vegetable kebabs, which smelled mouthwateringly delicious. I craned my neck to see out the glass-paned door, but Nathaniel wasn't with them, either.

**Mom, can I help do anything?** I asked out of desperation. **Does she need me to set the table?**

**No, Kiddo, everything's already been done**, Mom said, **but it's sweet of you to offer.**

Jackie touched my shoulder to get my attention and ask me a question. I could tell she was a sweet, well-meaning woman, her brown eyes as soft and kind as her son's—but she didn't understand that I could read her lips pretty accurately if she would just talk normally. She exaggerated each of her syllables, stretching her lips to form unrecognizable shapes.

Luckily, Mom was able to interpret for me. **She wants to know if you've met her daughter yet. Her name is A-M-B-E-R.**

Ugh...

Oh, gees, I hope I didn't accidentally grimace just then. Poker face, Johanna. Poker face.

**Kind of**, I answered. **We ****_ran into_**** each other at the carnival at the high school.**

Mom relayed my answer back to Jackie, who seemed pleased. Mom signed Jackie's response, too: **She says A-M-B-E-R has a friend over, if you want to go up to her room and say 'hi.'**

Yeah, _no_. Any 'friend' of Amber's is probably as pleasant as she is.

**Okay**, I said, even though I had no intention of subjecting myself to Amber. Rather, I slumped onto the pillowy living room couch and stared at the swaying pendulum of a stately grandfather clock.

Seriously, where _are_ you, Nathaniel?

I saw movement and color at the top of the stairs, and a pair of feet came into view on the landing. A tan girl's sandaled feet.

I huffed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. It's just Amber.

Following behind her was another pair of feet—a boy's huge, socked feet. Feet that were too big to be Nathaniel's.

Then I realized which 'friend' Amber had been _entertaining_ in her room.

Amber looked surprised to see me, to say the least, but Dajan made a beeline straight for me and sat right next to me on the couch. **Hey, Jo!**

**Hey, D.J.!** I smiled warmly, offering him a genial 'hello.' He wasn't Nathaniel, but at least I finally had someone to talk to. **I didn't expect to see ****_you_**** here!**

I glanced over at Amber—and she was glaring back, her glacial green eyes cutting me to pieces from under her stringy blonde fringe. I felt extremely underdressed compared to her. I went with a lightweight, spaghetti-strap tank top (purple to match my toenails) and grayish black shorts—and nothing else. I wasn't wearing makeup, since I almost never did. I didn't even bother to put on shoes before we left the house; I literally walked here barefoot. Amber, on the other hand, wore designer jeans and a painstakingly ironed silk top, which was cinched at her waist with a turquoise belt. (Who was she trying to impress?) There was a newly touched-up coat of makeup covering her oily skin, her sticky lips candy apple red as they blathered at Dajan.

She didn't join us on the couch. She preferred to stand _over_ us, her hands planted on her hips.

**I don't think you've ever ****_officially_**** introduced us**, I said to Dajan.

_Oh?_ Dajan's dark brows coiled mischievously and his golden eyes shifted to face Amber. _Amber, you remember Johanna…? _After that, he probably offered a few other details about me that she doubtlessly already knew: that I was deaf, that I lived nearby, and that I was _very_ good friends with her brother.

Amber tittered, tilting her head to one side the way a small dog would.

_Uh…_ Dajan hesitated. **She says it's a pleasure to meet you…?**

It was a blatant lie. Her lips weren't moving at all. I could tell she _hated_ not knowing what Dajan and I were saying to each other, even if it was perfectly innocent.

**No**, I insisted, nodding at Amber, **the pleasure is ****_all mine_****.**

Amber broke eye contact with me to look back up the stairs, and I followed her gaze.

Finally, _there_ was Nathaniel. When he came into view on the landing, I couldn't stop my face from smiling or my throat from letting out a delighted gasp. This summer, I'd only ever seen him in t-shirts and shorts, but tonight he wore long jeans with a lightweight gray button-down, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows—and a blue argyle sweater vest over it. A_ sweater vest._ Not everyone can pull off nerdy-chic, but he wore it _well_. His clothes fit so snugly it was easy to imagine the incredible body he hid underneath them.

I stood up and allowed him to wrap me in a warm, tight hug; I could detect a hint of woody cologne.

It was the first time he'd touched me since the night of the Fourth of July.

I _definitely_ felt underdressed now that I saw the effort Nathaniel went through. I told Dajan about it as I sank back into the couch. **I feel like I should go home and change into something nicer**, I signed, motioning my own outfit.

**But I like what you're wearing**, he signed back. **It matches your toes.**

So my bare feet _were_ obvious. I dug my toes into the carpet self-consciously, biting my lip to suppress an embarrassed smile.

Nathaniel lifted my chin with a gentle finger so that I could see his face as he talked to me. _What's the matter?_

I shook my head and smiled harder, scrunching my face into a little laugh.

As usual, Nathaniel was not convinced. He glowered at Dajan for the briefest of milliseconds before turning back to me.

I hoped he didn't think Dajan had said something to hurt my feelings. Since Nathaniel didn't understand sign language, all he had to go on was our reactions to each other. I had to be more careful.

Jackie came into the living room to collect us when dinner was ready. Nathaniel somehow already knew I wanted Sprite to drink; it fizzed in an icy-cold glass at the place setting beside his own. When the eight of us took our seats at the dining room table, I ended up more or less in the middle: Nathaniel to my right, his mom to my left, and Dajan right in front of me.

The dads sat across from each other in a contented silence while the moms gabbed on and on. Meanwhile, at the kids' end of the table, the conversation was equally exclusive. Amber and Nathaniel just stared as Dajan and I signed back and forth. I felt bad, but what could I do? Obviously Dajan wasn't receptive to interpreting for me so that Nathaniel could be included. His sign language wasn't up to speed, either, which made things more difficult.

The first course was the fussiest salad I'd ever seen: arugula and red oakleaf tossed in a fragrant vinaigrette.

**The salad is purple**, Dajan whined, and he didn't touch it at all, not even to poke it with his fork. **_It_**** matches your toes, too.**

I couldn't blame him. I got through about half of it before I gave up and put my fork down. It was like trying to chew through a bowl of potpourri. **It's ****_supposed_**** to be purple**, I teased. **Didn't you know purple salad is better than regular salad?**

Nathaniel looked lost in deep concentration as he picked all the dried cranberries out of his salad, but didn't eat much of the greens (or, as Dajan would say, 'purples') underneath.

Amber must not have been hungry either. She didn't even lift a hand out of her lap to sip her sweating water goblet. At least, I _thought_ her hands were in her own lap…

Suddenly, Dajan filched conspicuously, his knees banging into the underside of the table, shaking everyone's drink glasses.

**Damn!** I said, flailing my arms. **What was ****_that_**** about?**

In answer, he frowned daggers at Amber.

Was she…? No, she couldn't be! Was she really _groping_ Dajan under the table with her whole family sitting around her? Her own brother was sitting right across from her! Even so, she didn't seem to give the close proximity of her family members a second thought. Her steely green eyes were dead set on _me_, the smile on her face smug, as if to ask: _What are you gonna do about it?_

It was so obvious she was trying to dangle Dajan in front of me like a cat toy. I found her insecurity not only pathetic, but hilarious. I wasn't going to do anything about it, except shamelessly laugh at her—which made Dajan lose it and crack up, too. Nathaniel refused to sink to our level of childishness; he pinched the bridge of his nose, his face fading from a rosy pink to a mortified blue-gray.

Once us kids settled back down, we moved onto the second course.

Dajan complained about his steak, too. **I think mine is ****_still alive_**, he signed, glancing at it suspiciously.

**It's ****_rare_**, I corrected him. He acted like he'd never seen a properly-cooked steak before. I knew he wouldn't criticize the meal this way if Mr. and Mrs. Weiss could understand what he was saying. **A little pink in the center won't ****_kill_**** you—**

Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my left hand mid-sign. His arms were so long he didn't even have to sit up to reach me from the other side of the table.

Nathaniel dropped his flatware, completely aghast. He looked at me as if to ask, _What the hell is going on?_

I had no answer for him, since I didn't know myself. I couldn't tell him even if I _did_ know, since Dajan held my wrist firmly with his long fingers. He loosened his grip to cradle my hand in his, inspecting my class ring, turning it so that the ruby shimmered in the light from the chandelier hanging above us.

**Sorry**, he apologized, releasing my hand when he saw the confused look on my face. **I was just—**

Nathaniel cut him off. Dajan's eyes shifted from mine to his, and he took a moment to listen to whatever Nathaniel was saying. In response, he laughed jovially. _Her ring_, said his lips as he indicated the ring he wore on his own left hand. It was silver, like mine, but clunkier and more masculine, and with a clear, whitish stone. I wondered if it was supposed to be the April birthstone.

Dajan noticed me staring and smiled. **I was looking at yours, too. It's from your old school, isn't it? You did ****_gymnastics_****?**

'Gymnastics' an oddly specific sign for him to know. I nodded yes, astonished. **Yeah, I did. For seven years.**

He glanced at my mom, who sat next to him to his left—but she was still engrossed in a conversation with Jackie and paid him no attention. **…You must be really ****_flexible_**, he said, turning back to me, tilting his pierced brow as if to add, _if you know what I mean_.

Oh, I _know what you mean_, alright.

He was toying with me to see how far he could take it—and I would beat him at his own game.

**I'm double-jointed almost everywhere**, I bragged. **You should see what I can do with my tongue!** I could prove it, too; I could tie cherry stems into knots using only my tongue, and I could fold it four times to look like the petals of a flower—but somehow it seemed inappropriate to demonstrate these specific talents in the middle of a dinner party at Nathaniel's parents' house.

He didn't expect me to say that _at all_. He clamped down on his bottom lip with a row of perfect white teeth. **You'll have to show me sometime**, he signed—but he really meant, _You win this round_.

Next to me, Jackie tapped my elbow, meaning to bring me into the conversation she and Mom were having. She started to ask a question—then slapped a hand over her own mouth, suddenly mortified.

I looked to Mom, who was listening in. **What is it? Did I do something wrong?**

**No, she just called you the wrong name by accident.** She waved it off one-handed, holding her wine glass tightly in her other hand. Her eyes shifted to Nathaniel's dad, who had something to add to the conversation.

I had no way of reading what he said; Nathaniel's mom's head was in the way, and I couldn't see his face. But whatever it was, it must have been horrible; it made Nathaniel's pre-existing annoyance erupt into full-blown rage.

All at once, Nathaniel sprang up, yelled something at his father, and stormed out of the room.

I stood up too. **What did he ****_say_**** to him?** I demanded—from Mom, Dad, from Dajan, from anyone who would tell me.

**Johanna, sit down**, Mom said, ignoring my question completely. **He'll be fine.**

I guessed Mom wanted to make the best possible impression on the Weiss family, but obviously something was up. I looked to Dajan, who was staring back at me with a slight frown. **If you won't tell me, I'll just get it from Nathaniel.** He would tell me. He knew he could tell me anything.

**Jo, ****_sit down_****—** Mom tried to repeat the command, but I was already hot on Nathaniel's trail. I saw a blue-and-gray blur move at the top of the stairs and disappear behind a door. I followed, taking the stairs two at a time just like I did in my own house.

Nathaniel's bedroom was in the same place as mine. I figured that was why he was able to navigate his way to my bedroom window so easily that night after the carnival. I didn't bother knocking, since I wouldn't be able to hear if he answered from within the room. I turned the knob and barged in.

The interior of the room was cool, still, motionless—a welcome relief from the bright lights and the movement and the clatter downstairs in the dining room. The stark white walls were crisp and uncluttered, except for the bookshelves I already knew as the backdrop for our webcam chats. His bed was neatly made, its navy blue and white plaid quilt pulled taught over the mattress. A telescope was pointed out the window, though the blinds in front of it were closed at the moment. He had an extensive collection of ties displayed on the wall next to his sliding closet doors; every color and every pattern I could imagine, he had a tie to match. The only part of his room that looked lived-in at all was his computer desk, around which he'd made a nest of scribbled-on papers, open books, strewn pens and pencils, and empty energy drink cans.

When I stepped through the doorway, it seemed I'd caught him changing clothes. He undid the last button of his shirt and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor.

**Hey**, I signaled, moving around to make sure he knew I was there.

_Hey_, he said back. He must have heard the door opening and knew to expect me there when he turned his head. _I… I'm sorry._

**Why?** I signed, screwing my face into a frown.

He slumped into the chair in front of his desk and opened his laptop. In a blank word-processor document, he began to type: "I don't think you could tell, but Mom called you the wrong name."

I stood beside him and bent over the keyboard, twisting my back into an odd angle. "That's what my mom told me. I'm not worried about it, really. Your mom just met me. People get names confused all the time."

Nathaniel hid his face in his hands and breathed out, trying to collect himself before he returned his fingers to the keyboard to type a response. I watched his bare chest contract and found myself taking a deep breath of my own. "She called you Melody," he wrote.

Oh.

_…Oh._

Nathaniel's mom _knew_ I wasn't Melody. She wasn't an idiot. But maybe she _called_ me Melody by accident because in her mind, I was Melody's replacement. For all I knew, Melody might have had dinner with them sitting in the exact same place I sat.

I sighed and forced a smile. "I think I understand what's so wrong about that now," I typed, glancing to gauge his reaction. "Melody might be the worst possible name for a deaf girl."

His frown was ruptured when his lips curled into an embarrassed little smile.

"I honestly don't think it's that big a deal," I continued, trying to reassure him further.

"Dad didn't think it was a big deal, either," he shot back, his smile disappearing, "and he made a point to let everyone know about it. He said, 'Call the deaf girl anything you want. She won't correct you. It's not like she can hear you.'"

Wow. It really was brash of Nathaniel's dad to say that in front of my mom—and Dajan, who had a '_deaf_ girl' for a little sister.

Nathaniel gaped at me, his eyes heavy with humiliation. It hurt to see him so upset.

"Calling me deaf is one thing, because I am deaf, and I can't help what I am," I wrote, "but I don't want to be 'the deaf girl.' My deafness isn't all of who I am. You understand that."

…And Dajan understands, too, I thought, remembering his indignant frown.

Nathaniel took the keyboard back and poured his heart into an apology. "I'm so ashamed… I can't believe my father actually said that. And Amber laughed at you. I'm so sorry, for both of them."

"They're not your responsibility," I asserted. "For what it's worth, I think the two of you are nothing alike, you and your sister."

His smile tugged at the corners of his mouth again. "Really? You don't think so? People say we look alike all the time. We both look like our mom."

"She might look like you in some ways, but she's nothing like you on the inside. You're kind, and…" Compassionate? Charming? Clever? Adorable in every way? I could have ended the sentence any number of ways, but I went with "…and you make me feel at home. But Amber? It's obvious she'd rather not have me around. I cramp her style."

Nathaniel nodded in agreement. "She's used to getting her way. She's Daddy's Little Girl, through and through. She'll ask him, 'Daddy, can I have twenty dollars?' And he'll say, 'Take a hundred! I don't have any small bills.'"

"That's not fair," I responded. Nathaniel had to mow lawns and clean gutters for his money, but all Amber had to do was bat her eyelashes and pout? Why? Because he was born with a Y chromosome and she wasn't?

"My father is not a fair man," Nathaniel agreed somberly.

I thought I could cheer him up, but his mood plummeted once more.

Then, something in an untouched, shadowy corner of the room caught my eye when I looked away from Nathaniel's sad face.

Is that…?

A drum set?

I crossed the room to inspect them further. Sure enough, Nathaniel had a complete drum set tucked into the corner of his room. It looked like it was in perfect condition, but the brass cymbals were collecting dust.

I didn't know he played the drums!

That's… That's… Oh my God, that's _so sexy_!

I rushed back to the keyboard and bent over it to type, "Do you still play?"

"Not really. I used to play in a band, but not anymore."

"So you won't give me a little demonstration?"

He smiled, his eyes wavering briefly at my chest, which was only inches from his face as I stooped over him. "I'd love to, but I can't. Dad hates the noise. I can only play when no one is home, which is almost never."

Percussion was pretty much the only way I could experience music, so the drums were always my favorite. The other girls at the School for the Deaf would be _majorly_ jealous if they knew my super-cute neighbor boy was also a _drummer_.

It hurt my back to bend over the keyboard so awkwardly. I stood up straight and stretched, massaging my lower back with my hands and grimacing.

Nathaniel caught onto my body language. He stood, unplugging his laptop, and moved the conversation to his bed, where we could both sit comfortably. I rolled over onto my stomach, kicking my bare feet in the air, hugging one of his pillows to my chest. The pillowcase smelled just like his hair.

He wore an odd expression as I nuzzled his pillows and rolled around on his quilt—like he couldn't decide if he should be reluctant or overjoyed. I guess the latter won out, and he finally relented and smiled. "I'm sorry again for losing my temper. I really am glad you came tonight. I wasn't expecting you to come."

I mashed the pillow under me to free up my forearms and type a response. "I certainly didn't expect Dajan to be here, either," I wrote before I could stop myself. I wasn't used to writing my thoughts to him without the luxury of deleting them or changing them before I hit 'send.'

For maybe the hundredth time that night, Nathaniel's smile faded when he read Dajan's name. "I wasn't expecting him, either. I don't understand what he's even doing in Sweet Amoris," he began. "The school he came from is a well-known magnet school for athletes. You'd think he'd be better off there, since the S.A. basketball program is so small. When his academic file came to the school before his transfer, I flipped through it, and most of it was blacked out. If I had to guess, I'd say he was kicked out for fighting and he doesn't want anyone to know because he's trying to get a college scholarship. I'd be careful around him if I were you."

"That's a pretty serious accusation." I couldn't imagine someone like Dajan in a fight. If he had any involvement in a fight, I imagined it was because the girls at his old school constantly fought _over_ _him_; I couldn't help but smile at the mental image.

Nathaniel's frown intensified in response to my dreamy smile. "The parts of his file that weren't blacked out mentioned hospital stays. That's a red flag, if you ask me. I don't know what else that could possibly mean besides fighting."

Something didn't quite add up. "Wait, what were you doing 'flipping through' kids' academic files, anyway?"

"I was the student body president," he reasoned. "It was one of my responsibilities to help new students. I'd show them around and make sure they had all the right paperwork on file."

I rolled my eyes. I had a feeling Nathaniel just liked knowing things—things no one else knew.

…It's a good thing I'm not going to his old high school, or else he might have read my confidential academic file, too…and he would have found out about what I did—the mistake I made that was so horrible, my whole family packed up and moved just to save me from the pain and embarrassment of having to go back to the School for the Deaf and face the rumors.

My rolling eyes caught sight of Dajan waving at me as he materialized in the doorway, as if he knew we were talking about him.

Seriously, Dajan?

Did he not notice the fact that I was sitting on Nathaniel's bed, next to Nathaniel, who wasn't wearing a shirt?

He was not at all oblivious to what he could be potentially interrupting, but clearly not concerned, either. **Jo**, he signed, **do you want to come with me if I go get something to eat? I'm starving**, he whined, since he didn't eat what was actually served for dinner.

**Maybe ****_some other time_**, I emphasized, my eyes darting to Nathaniel in a _hint, hint_ motion.

**Okay.** He didn't interpret that as a 'no'. **Are you busy next Saturday?**

I shook my head. **No, why?**

**Just asking. Don't make any plans. See you later!** He turned away without even pretending to care about telling Nathaniel goodbye, too.

"Alright, what did he say?" Nathaniel typed moodily.

"He wanted to tell me goodbye," I said truthfully—but left out the part about him asking me out.

_Did_ he just ask me out? Right in front of Nathaniel? After he came to dinner at his girlfriend's house?

Love him or hate him, Dajan Asad had moxie, and he was definitely growing on me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Dream of Me**

I scrambled around my room, shoving everything I thought I might need for my Friday night date into my pockets.

Phone? Check.

Wallet? Check.

Spearmint Chapstick? ...Check. Might as well bring it, too—just in case.

The last things I grabbed were Nathaniel's gray-and-white jacket and his red yearbook, both of which he left in my room the night he snuck in through the window after the carnival.

Would he need his jacket in Indiana? Did it get cold very fast in the fall? I wasn't sure, but I knew I should give it back to him; I wouldn't be able to stand it if I kept it here in my room. Every time I saw it, I would think of its rightful owner and get instantly and incurably depressed.

**Where are you and Nathaniel going tonight?** Dad asked with a chipper smile as I came down the stairs.

What was _he_ smiling about? He knew this was our last night together. He didn't have to rub it in my face. **A movie. And then to this soda fountain ice cream place**, I told him with a sigh. I anticipated what he would ask next, and relayed the answers I'd already prepared. **If we go anywhere else, I'll text you. We're not meeting up with any of his other friends, because they already left for college last weekend. He has to get up super early in the morning, so I'll be home at ten at the very latest.**

Dad wore a fake smile and nodded listlessly as he considered me from behind his thick glasses lenses. Under normal circumstances, he probably would have given me a stern reminder to watch my 'attitude,' as he calls it, but tonight he let it slide. **Okay. Have fun, and be careful**, he waved as I stepped through the door into the airy summer night.

Nathaniel was just getting out of his truck and met me halfway down the driveway. He waved at my Dad, who nodded and waved back at us understandingly. Nathaniel and I took our places inside the truck, and as we buckled ourselves in, I laid his yearbook and his jacket down on the back seat...beside an already-packed suitcase and a carry-on messenger bag.

Don't let it get to you, Johanna. You knew right from the start that this day would come.

Sure, I _knew_...but that didn't make it _hurt_ any less.

I didn't often see movies in an actual theater, simply because they never had subtitles. Actors' lips in movies were harder to read, especially out of context or when the character speaking was out-of-frame. Nonetheless, I agreed to go when Nathaniel suggested it; it was an excuse to sit in a dark room right next to him for a few hours. He insisted on paying, and he even splurged on tickets for a 3D showing. I ate warm, oily popcorn by the handful, letting it dissolve on my tongue, and pretended to understand whatever was going on in the big-budget summer blockbuster.

We sat. We stared. We ate. We left. And we said nothing to each other the whole time.

The fifties throwback ice cream place across the street from the movie theater was just as dismal. My strawberry shortcake sundae certainly _looked_ delicious, but eating it did nothing to help my mood. It tasted less sweet with every lick, less satisfying with every swallow. Nathaniel let his Coke float melt without eating most of the vanilla ice cream, stirring it agitatedly with a long iced tea spoon.

We sat. We stared. We ate. We left. And once again, there were no words.

…This was torture.

As he drove us home, I threw a glance back at his suitcase, and at the jacket and the yearbook underneath. I'd taken the liberty of tucking a picture of me in the back inside cover, since there were no pictures of me in the yearbook, obviously. It was an extra print Mom made of the shot of me holding the peonies last summer in Virginia.

I regretted never taking a picture _with_ Nathaniel, otherwise I could have left him that one instead, but it was too late for that now. He was already pulling into my driveway.

He cranked the gear shift to park and took his foot of the break. _Um... Well... Good night, Johanna..._ His eyes looked everywhere: the odometer, the garage door, the hedges, the concrete...anywhere but at me.

Nathaniel, you know me better than this. And I know you.

But I understood why he had to distance himself from me. Starting tomorrow, the distance would be literal and unavoidable. As much as I wanted to pretend we still had time left to spare, we didn't. This was all there was, and all there ever could be.

I freed myself of the seatbelt and got out of the truck. **Good night**, I signed, and slammed the passenger door, blocking his face from my view. I walked to the front door, my path illuminated by the dull yellowish headlights, without once looking back.

Good night, Nathaniel. Goodbye. Good luck. Have a nice time at college. Have fun learning about how to be a hotshot lawyer, making new friends, trying new things, and forgetting all about me.

When I reached my room, my digital clock read 10:03PM. We got back right on time, but it still felt way too early. There was nothing left to do tonight, so I took off my capris and my halter top, and I freed my hair from its high ponytail. I showered and changed into my lightweight strawberry print pajamas. Then, in an automated trance, I opened my laptop and signed into instant messenger.

And there was njweiss121. Waiting for me. "Johanna?" he sent as soon as he saw I was on.

"Yeah, Nathaniel?"

"Leave the window open for me."

I smiled a genuine smile for the first time that night. "It's open."

And he signed off.

I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been earlier in the summer for letting him climb onto my roof and jump through my window. Dad was weird about self-defense and home security, especially since he and I were deaf and Mom was physically handicapped. He was paranoid that we could be taken advantage of somehow, and it made him feel better knowing that he had a gun if he needed it. I guessed that was fine, as long as he knew how to use it without hurting anyone by accident—namely Nathaniel. It was a good thing the motion sensors Dad installed around the house's perimeter _still_ weren't activated yet, or Nathaniel could have tripped the silent alarm.

I didn't have to worry about it for too long, though, because before I knew it, Nathaniel appeared on the other side of the glass and gently pushed the window open. I grabbed his hand and helped him climb through the window frame, practically pulling him in my eagerness to get him inside.

We both smiled at each other, guided only by the white light coming from my computer screen, finally admitting to ourselves what we really wanted this night to be like.

Again, I shushed him with my finger, but gently enough that he could still talk if he wanted to.

_Wh-what do you think you're doing?_ asked his whispering, stammering lips, even though he already knew the answer.

Well, I reasoned, he still 'owed' me a favor from my birthday... I'd just waited until the last possible minute to..._collect_.

In an instant, our 'no more kissing' rule was broken, shattered, completely forgotten. His lips were on mine, his hands pressing into my back, bringing me closer to him. I wrapped myself up in him, breathed him in, and savored his taste, all the while wishing I could stay lost in him forever.

Together, still locked in a kiss, we fell onto my bed. He parted the kiss to lift his head and listen for signs of Mom or Dad in the hallway, but he heard none, and knelt back down to peck my cheek.

Tonight, we didn't need phones, computers, notebooks, or pens. We relied purely on touch: hands, faces, arms, chests…lips.

We were to the point now where I could read his whole body, not just his lips. His crinkled smile and his blinking eyelashes, for example, said, _Haha, that tickles!_ when I dragged my nails under his shirt and across his ribs. _You...you have such soft hands_, said the gentle kiss he planted on my fingers when he brought them to his lips.

I knew what this must have looked like: the two of us breathing heavily, shamelessly kissing, rolling over onto each other on my bed… It was getting more and more 'serious' with each mushy kiss, with each touch of his hand, with each passing second. We were trying our best to make up for lost time, but despite that, we both knew our limitations.

...Well, _he_ knew _his_ limitations. I, on the other hand, was never very good at 'self-control.'

_Come here. I want you closer to me_, said his arms as they pulled me in. It was probably for the best that he held me close to him; that way, I could only reach so far with my thirsty hands.

11PM... Midnight... 1AM...

After a while, I found his weak spot: his head. The one on his shoulders, specifically. He practically melted in response to my touch as I massaged his temples, drawing tiny circles with my fingertips.

_Wh-what are you doing?_ he repeated, seemingly unnerved by the sensation—but not enough to pull away._  
_

I wondered if he had chronic headaches... That must be why he always pinched the bridge of his nose when he was upset or angry.

_That feels so good_, said his contented sigh as I gently tugged at handfuls of his perfect blond hair. He couldn't stop his brown eyes from closing, his eyelids heavy with fatigue. _I'm going to end up falling asleep if you keep doing that_, he confessed, leaning into it.

As I slowed my pace, I could literally feel him drifting away; his smiling lips relaxed, and his breathing deepened.

I lay still and watched as he slept. As much as I wanted to curl up next to him and fall asleep, too, I didn't dare.

2AM... 3AM... 4AM.

Reluctantly, I kissed Nathaniel's forehead to rouse him. What time did he say his dad was dropping him off at the airport? Five? Six? I was afraid to let him sleep any longer, even though it pained me to wake him from what looked like a perfect, euphoric, restful sleep.

He blinked his eyes open, and immediately smiled when he saw my face resting only inches from his on the pillow. But that moment was gone in a flash, and he frowned when he remembered himself. _What time is it? How long did I sleep?_ He had to stifle a gasp when he glanced at my alarm clock.

I had no idea why Nathaniel was so disappointed in himself. Most people slept at least six hours. _It's alright_, I told him, dragging my fingertips across his stubbly jaw. _You were tired. You needed it._

He took my hand in his, kissing it delicately. His eyes shifted from mine to something on the wall behind my head, and I knew he had to be staring down the dreaded window.

With one final kiss on my lips—a tender, plaintive, bittersweet kiss—he pushed himself off my bed and crossed the room to my window, opening it for the last time.

**Goodbye, Jo**, he signed clumsily.

I didn't get up from where I sat upright on the bed, because I knew if I did, it would take another hour for him to wrench himself free of my arms. Instead, I grabbed the pillow and held it.

**Goodbye, Nathaniel**, I returned, **and thank you.**

I wished my pillow could board that plane, touch down in Indiana, and go to law school in Nathaniel's place. That way Nathaniel could stay with me in my bed, letting me hold him and hug him and cry into him. But if Nathaniel was my pillow, I would have nothing to cry about.

I didn't allow myself to cry until I was sure he was gone. Then there was nothing stopping me from sobbing into my pillow, whom I now resented for not being smart enough to get into Indiana's pre-law program.

After I'd sobbed myself sore, I fell into a miserable, sticky-eyed sleep in which my dreams were so heavily saturated with Nathaniel—his smell, his touch, his presence—they felt heartbreakingly real.

Would he dream of me, the way I dreamt of him? Probably not, if he almost never slept at all.

Mom ripped me from my slumber so soon, it was hard for me to tell the difference between my dream and reality. My hands almost formed Nathaniel's name-sign, but I balled them into fists and pretended to be stretching instead.

The room around me was full of light once more, the window still conspicuously open—but Mom didn't notice. She was adamant that I wake up, for some reason. **Get up! **she was telling me.

What time is it? … _Eight_ in the morning? Who gets up this early on a Saturday?

**Guess what ****_you're_**** doing today? **she signed rhythmically—_way_ too giddily, in my opinion.

Uh… Something tells me my original plan (to stay in my pajamas all day, eat an entire pint of Cherry Garcia, and go back to sleep in a dairy-logged torpor) is about to fall through…

**You're going over to the A-S-A-Ds' house for tutoring today! **she finally said after I made it clear I wasn't in the mood for guessing games.

I wasn't much in the mood for tutoring, either. My mind was a thousand miles away, wondering what Nathaniel was doing at this moment, secretly wishing he would change his mind and come back.

**Mom, do I ****_have_**** to?** I whined groggily.

**You ****_told_**** her you would**, Mom asserted, referring to Dajan's mother. Mom sighed and sat down at the foot of my bed, sympathetically patting the bare leg that stuck out of my blanket cocoon. **Kiddo, I know you're upset, but there's nothing you can do about it now. If you get up, put on a pretty smile, and ****_accomplish_**** something today, it'll help take your mind off it.**

The 'it' I needed to take my mind off of, obviously, was Nathaniel.

**Fine**, I relented, throwing off the covers and sitting up. Maybe she was right. Maybe spending some time with an adorable little girl would make me feel better… **I'll go. Just let me get ready first…**

She smiled at me reassuringly and stood up. **You'd better hurry**, she said, clapping her hands in a 'chop-chop' motion. **Dajan will be here to pick you up any minute!**

**Wait, ****_what_****?** _Dajan_ was picking me up?

If anyone could take my mind off Nathaniel, it was Dajan—but I wasn't sure how I felt about seeing him this soon after Nathaniel's departure.

Just when I thought I could finally scrape my heart from the bottom of the frying pan, along comes Dajan to hurl it into the fire.


	14. Chapter 14

**Missing You**

My hair was still damp from my shower last night. I pulled it into a high ponytail, not even caring that it would get frizzy as it dried in the humid August air. I had no 'pretty' clothes that were clean; I settled on jean shorts and a gray Gallaudet University t-shirt.

Dad had already let Dajan in through the front door; he was animatedly regaling the familiar silhouette of the tall boy with a sign language rant about high school athletics.

**I played football all through high school**, Dad was saying at I came down the stairs. **I was the school's first and only deaf wide receiver. Coach used a bass drum instead of a whistle so that I could feel the vibration—oh, ****_there_**** you are, Jo!** he said when he noticed me approach. **We were starting to think you went back to sleep.**

**Good morning to you, too, Dad. **In truth, I would have given anything to be able to go back to sleep and be left alone with my dreams of Nathaniel—but I sighed heavily and put on my best imitation of my usual smile, like Mom suggested, and turned my attention to Dajan. **Hey, D.J.**

**Hey, Jo**, he signed back, smiling a crooked smile that, unlike mine, was completely honest. He wore comfortable, broken-in clothes: loose-fitting basketball shorts and a t-shirt. From where I stood on the second step from the bottom, we were almost eye-to-eye. He leaned against the banister, as though zeroing in for a closer look.

I had nothing with me except my phone. I didn't even think I would need my wallet. **Should I…bring anything?** I asked, just to be sure.

Dajan shook his head **no**, the shorter dreadlocks that framed his face swaying. **All I need is you.**

**Okay**, I said, stifling another sigh. **I'm ready whenever you are.**

Let's get this over with.

Shockingly, Dad didn't bombard me with questions about where we were going or when we would be back; I wasn't sure if it was because I had finally managed to regain his trust, or if it was because he trusted I would be safe with Dajan.

The morning sky above us on the drive to the Asads' house was still a hazy pinkish color. Dajan's dented CR-V was as untidy on the inside as it was on the outside. In spite of several cardboard tree air fresheners hanging from the rear-view mirror, it smelled faintly of day-old gym clothes and stale French fries, and there were at least twelve individually-wrapped fast food straws tucked into the pull-down sun visor. The diver's seat was adjusted as far back as it would go so that Dajan's long legs would fit inside.

When he stopped at a red light, Dajan was able to take his hands off the wheel to talk to me. **Hey, are you okay?** He put on a frown like the one he wore when Amber slammed the door in my face in the House of Mirrors. **You seem…sad.**

'Sad' wasn't exactly it. Dajan didn't know the sign for whatever I was feeling; to be fair, I wasn't even sure if _I_ could put a word to what I felt now that Nathaniel was gone. **No, I'm not _sad_. I'm _tired_**, I admitted, for lack of a better word. **I stayed up until four this morning.**

He drew an exaggerated **Why?** in the air, but before I could answer, the light changed to green. He returned one hand to the steering wheel and faced forward, still frowning.

From now on, I would have to put forth more effort to maintain a smile. Dajan had only ever seen me, what, _four_ times?—but apparently that was enough for him to be able to tell that something was up from the look on my face. It wasn't _Dajan's_ fault I was so…tired. I didn't want him to know how miserable I really was. I certainly didn't want him to think I was miserable _because_ of him.

The Asads' house was at the crest of a small hill on the opposite edge of town: a cheerful one-story with white siding, red shutters, and window boxes replete with summer flowers. It stood out among the other houses, which weren't as well-maintained.

Desirée almost ran me over in her haste to get out the front door. **Good morning, Jo! It's so nice to see you again**, she signed jovially, albeit breathlessly, as she looped her work identification badge around her neck. **I'm sorry I can't stay**, she explained, **but I've been called into work for an emergency.**

I grimaced sympathetically. **An emergency?**

She nodded gravely. **I'm going to the hospital to interpret for the deaf parent of a child who accidentally drank paint thinner.**

I had to respect Desirée for doing such important work—and for being on call at such short notice. **Okay**, I singed, not really sure what to say in this situation.

… Wait, so, she's just leaving us? In the house? Together?

Alone?

Desirée must have been thinking the exact same thing. She smiled at me politely—but the smile changed to a petrifying steely-eyed warning glare when she turned to look at Dajan. She spoke to him out loud so harshly that I didn't recognize any of the shapes on her lips.

Dajan swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Desirée brushed passed us and got into her car to leave.

Dajan was definitely bothered by whatever she said. I couldn't help but ask. **What ****_was_**** that? What did she say?** I was bothered, too; I thought it was weird that a woman who specialized in sign language interpretation would purposefully leave a deaf person out of the loop. She'd made a point to sign almost everything she said around me the last time we met at my parents' studio.

He smiled down at me, but as smiles went, this one was far from his best. It appeared much too quickly, as though pre-packaged. **Nothing important**, he insisted. He opened the door for me and motioned for me to go in first, that pierced brow of his arcing as if to say, _Shall we?_

I don't really have a choice, so I suppose we shall.

The inside of the small house smelled like a bizarrely pleasant mix of lavender, lemon disinfectant, carpet powder, and breakfast cereal. The first room was a combination living/dining room: the cushy blue couches adorned with hand-knitted afghans, the dining room table carefully set with brightly-colored wicker placemats. Every surface was surgically clean—except for where Iana sat at the table, chewing a slice of crumbly cinnamon toast.

**J-O!** She spelled my name-sign when she recognized me, carving the curve of my 'J' into the air with her pinky. She leapt down from the chair and rushed over to me, and unquestioningly squeezed me in an enthusiastic hug.

You can't stay moody once a five-year-old hugs you. You just can't. I relented and cracked a genuine smile, which sparked an even brighter smile from Dajan.

**Did you come to play with us today?** Iana asked, bright-eyed.

**Kind of**, I answered, still somewhat apprehensive, though I could feel the frost melting. I slipped off my shoes, not wanting to track dirt across the pristine carpet, exposing my purple toenails.

**Have a seat**, Dajan offered politely. **Are you hungry? Thirsty?**

**No, but thank you.** The very thought of eating anything made my stomach churn painfully, but I obliged him by sitting down, sinking into the couch.

D.J. settled in right next to me, even though there was plenty of room on the couch for him to sit at the other end. He stared at me hopefully, presumably waiting for me to start 'tutoring.'

I had no idea what to do. I had never 'tutored' anyone before. I had nothing prepared. I didn't even know where to start.

I cracked my knuckles and rolled my shoulders back. **What do you struggle with? **I asked placidly. **And your sister? What does she need help with?**

He blinked his honey eyes and twisted his lips into a half-smile. **Sign language**, he answered.

**Well, yeah, I figured as much**, I signed contritely, folding my legs underneath me to sit more comfortably. **I mean which ****_part_**** of sign language? Vocabulary? Verb tenses? Hand positions? Easily-confused signs?**

**Yes**, he said.

**Yes to ****_which_**** thing?**

**…Yes.**

I sucked air in through my nostrils and ground my back teeth together.

This is going to be a long day.

**Okay, then, let's start with you—with the basics**, I began. **How would you introduce yourself to someone in sign language?**

_Uh_, said his smiling mouth. **Hello?**

**Yes, obviously!** It was kind of a stupid idea, since Dajan and I already knew each other, more or less, but I had to roll with it now; it was too late to take it back. **But after that? How would you tell about yourself, I mean? If we had never met, what would you want me to know?**

**My egg is D-A-J-A-N. My egg-sign is D-J.**

**Wait, no, stop**, I butted in, trying not to blatantly laugh at him. **You have the right hand-_shape_, but the wrong _motion_ for N-A-M-E. The way you say it makes it look like E-G-G.**

_What?_ he sputtered out loud. _Egg?_

**Here, let me show you!** I couldn't keep myself from laughing at the look on his face. I scooted closer to him on the couch and clasped both of his hands, signing the words with him.

He had such soft hands, such long fingers… And he smelled nice… Shea butter, coconut, and fabric softener.

**See the difference?** I asked, looking back up to his face.

**Yeah**, he nodded. From up close, I could could detect the faintest of acne scars on his otherwise flawless mocha skin—and in his eyes were rings of brighter gold around the edges of his black pupils.

The golden rings were taking me in much the same way—scanning my face and then shifting up to my hair, down to my clothes.

I shuffled back to where I was originally sitting, allowing him a few more inches of personal space—meanwhile hoping he wouldn't notice me swallowing the mouthful of saliva that had pooled under my tongue. **Go on, then. Keep telling about yourself.**

I shouldn't have interrupted him right away. He was flustered, and he wouldn't stop staring at me. It took several seconds of hesitation before he would try again. **I'm…seventeen years old**, he continued, stumbling over the compound number. **I'm a…a senior in high school. And I play basketball.** He stopped, letting his hands rest in his lap, and looked to me as though waiting for approval.

He was actually doing very well, all things considered, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him that—at least not yet. **So that's it? **I pried. **That's _everything_ about you? You're just a guy who plays basketball?**

**No**, he said, smiling wider.

**Tell me more**, I urged. **I know you know ****_way_**** more than that.**

**Like what? **he retaliated. His hands were indignant, but his eyes were playful. He was enjoying this as much as I was. **What do you want to know?**

**Tell me about why you know sign language.**

**I…_I'm_ not deaf; I'm hearing. But my little sister is deaf.**

**Good!** I tried to think of another basic question—a fun one this time. **When is your birthday?**

He laughed nervously. **What comes after March?** He'd forgotten the sign for it.

**April**, I showed him. 'April' was more angular than 'March,' but they looked very similar; it was easy to see why he would forget one or the other.

**April**, he repeated. **April ninth. When's yours?**

Why did his counter-question make me blush? I was sure he was just trying to see if he could recognize the sign for my birth month. **It was July fourth. I'm eighteen now. I'm always older than everyone else in my year at school because my birthday is in the summer**, I elaborated.

My answer seemed to disappoint him. **The Fourth of July was your birthday? Why didn't you tell me when I saw you?**

I shrugged. **It never came up. We only talked for a few minutes…** We only had a few minutes before a certain Blonde Bitch dragged you away, remember?

What would have happened if I had stayed with Dajan just a few minutes longer that day? What would have happened if Dajan had been the one to see me break down after I got that random text…from _him_, the nightmare I thought I left behind? Would Dajan have held me the way Nathaniel did? Would he have promised me everything would be alright?

It doesn't matter. What's done is done. Nathaniel was there for me then…but he's gone now.

**So, you're a senior, too?** Dajan was asking me. Wow. He caught that? He'd been paying close attention to my signs. **You'll be in my class at school?** he asked leadingly.

**Oh, well… **He seemed excited about the prospect of me going to school with him; I hated to let him down, but I had to tell him the truth. **I'm not going to school at all, actually. I'm staying home and finishing high school online.**

Disappointment creased his forehead and drooped his shoulders—more than I'd anticipated. **Why can't you finish at a real school?**

**Because! It would be too different from the School for the Deaf where I came from. No one knows ASL at the school here except you. How would I communicate? It just wouldn't work.**

**So? If you want to go to school, they… They ****_have_**** to help you**, he said. There was more going on inside his head, I knew, but he was unsure of how to word it in signs. **My mom will tell you. She knows everything about sign language interpretation.**

He was trying awfully hard to get me to see things his way. **Why do you want me to go to school so bad?** I asked innocently.

He scratched the back of his neck with long fingers and bit into his lip as he looked away. **I'm new**, he finally said. **I don't have a lot of friends. If you went to school with me, I would finally have a friend there.**

**Really?** Why wouldn't a hearing boy as gregarious and attractive as Dajan Asad have very many friends? I found that part of his story hard to believe.

He nodded. **It's like you said on the Fourth of July. No one else really understands…but you do.**

**I do ****_sometimes_**, I said mockingly, **when you actually sign things right—like ****_name_**** instead of ****_egg_****.**

**That was ****_one_**** time!** he shot back. **But I'll do it again if you want to hold my hand.**

My face exploded with red-hot embarrassment. **What's ****_that_**** supposed to mean?** I signed through a wide smile.

Did he really think I wanted to touch him so bad I was fishing for excuses?

… Is that what _he_ wanted?

… Doesn't he still technically have a girlfriend? Eh, that's never stopped me before…

Why did I think that just then? I'm supposed to be tutoring Iana...

I'd completely forgotten about Iana until I felt a little hand tap my shoulder. She handed me a sheet of construction paper, beaming proudly. **I colored you a picture!**

I set it down on my lap admiringly. **It's…** It was barely recognizable. I assumed the vaguely feminine stick figure with stringy Tickle Me Pink scribbles for hair and Tawny dots all over its face was supposed to be me. **It's beautiful, but…why is my hair ****_pink_****?**

**Because D.J. said you have strawberry hair.** She looked to Dajan for reassurance. **Right, D.J.?**

**_Did_**** he now?** I signed, mimicking her and looking to Dajan, too.

Did he put her up to this, or did she really just do this herself? Either version of the story was kind of weirdly adorable.

**Strawberry ****_blonde_**, he said to Iana, gnawing on his bottom lip again and avoiding my eyes. **That's what you call the color of her hair. Not quite red, not quite yellow.**

I raised an eyebrow. First 'gymnastics,' and now 'strawberry blonde.' Both were oddly specific set of signs for him to know, especially considering he didn't even know all the months of the year… Had he been doing research, perhaps?

The entire exchange had me in such a hormonal tizzy, my face was still burning. Maybe a splash of cold water would help me cool off. **Where's your bathroom?** I said, pushing myself out of the sunken couch.

**To the right**, he gestured, pointing down the hall.

It was easy to see whose room was whose through the open doors of the bedrooms on either side of the hallway. The room on the left practically glowed pink, the light coming through the windows filtered by rosy curtains. The room on the left was darker, its window blocked out by horizontal blinds—but I could see in far enough to tell that most of the room was taken up by a massive unmade bed, under which were stacked at least twelve basketball shoeboxes. This room had to be Dajan's.

… Would he hear me if I peeked in to do a little snooping? You can tell a lot about a boy by what he keeps in his room…

I decided against the idea as I stood in the doorway, and I reached for the doorknob to tilt the door closed as if I hadn't been there at all…but there was no door in the frame. There were hinges, which told me there had been a door at one time, but the door was gone. It had been _removed_.

I looked across the hallway at Iana's bedroom, just to be sure I wasn't losing it…but yes, _she_ had a door; she even had a pastel-colored wooden plaque with her name painted on it.

Why would Desirée disallow her seventeen-year-old son a _door_?

That's insane. Dajan was new at the high school just last semester, so they must have moved into this house not too long ago, right? Maybe the door was already broken, or maybe they broke it by accident trying to move his gigantic bed into the room.

Whatever. I've been standing here way too long. He's going to think I got lost coming back from the bathroom.

**Took you long enough!** Dajan signed from his seat on the couch.

I might as well come right out and say it. Dajan is certainly the type to say what's on his mind. **Hey, what happened to your door?** I asked.

**The door? What do you mean?** His eyes shifted behind me to look at the front door.

**The door to your _room_**, I specified. **It's _gone_.**

His smile vanished completely, but he immediately replaced it with a different one, this one more cheeky. **What were you doing in my room?**

**I didn't go ****_in_**** your room**, I shot back, noticing how he avoided my question completely. I should probably drop it, since it seems to upset him…

**I would show it to you, but Little Sis here has such a big mouth. She tells Mom everything.**

Why would Desirée be opposed to me being in Dajan's…? Oh. _Oh._

**I didn't even _mean_ it like that**, I tried to say, but Dajan had since turned his attention to Iana, who climbed onto the couch beside him.

**What am I telling Mom?** she asked, blinking innocently.

**You're telling Mom about how much you learned**, he answered, **and that you want Jo to come back again.**

Iana nodded fiercely, the barrettes in her hair bobbing. Her ears, aided by the Cochlear implant, suddenly registered a sound that I couldn't detect. She gaped around the room to find its source. **What was that?** she asked Dajan.

**Jo's phone**, he answered. He pointed to where I'd left it facedown on a side table beside the couch. **It's been going off all day**, he added, more to me than to Iana.

**It has?** I hadn't looked at it once since I got here.

Dajan nodded coyly.

I grabbed it, and by force of habit looked to see who it was.

Oh, God, if it's Nathaniel, I'm going to lose it…

Or, even worse, if it's _him_ again, I'm going to completely break down—and this time Nathaniel isn't here to make it all better.

Luckily, it was neither. It was just Mom, sending corny 'I love you' texts and reminding me to text her when I wanted to come home.

Relieved, I rolled my eyes and shut off the vibration so that it wouldn't bother Iana anymore.

**Who is it? Your ****_boyfriend_****?** he asked, accentuating the sign.

**No, just my Mom. And I don't ****_have_**** a boyfriend**, I threw back. Didn't we already have this conversation, only with me on the other end?

**Really? But I thought you and what's-his-name… Didn't you make him a name-sign? 'Neighbor'-something?**

**Yeah, I did. **I had to call him something, didn't I? It would be a pain in the ass to fingerspell his entire name _every_ time I talked about him; his name was long, and it made for quite the handful. Just because I made him a name-sign didn't mean we were… Well, either way, that was none of Dajan Asad's business. **'Neighbor'-'necktie,'** said my hands automatically, separating the sings so that Dajan could see them clearly—then again, faster and closer together. **Nathaniel. But he's ****_not_**** my boyfriend**, I reiterated.

**He's not?**

**No.**

Iana watched us sign back and forth, following the motions like a spectator at a tennis match. She was probably only somewhat aware of what was going on, only vaguely familiar with the signs we were using. I felt bad for excluding her and I was about to change the subject when Dajan said something that took me completely by surprise.

**… He's gone? Nathaniel?**

How did Dajan know that? I didn't remember telling him. Maybe he overheard Nathaniel's parents talking about it at dinner last week. **Yes, he left today**, I confirmed. **He went to I-N.**

**He went ****_in_**** where?** Dajan asked, frowning confusedly.

**No, he went to I-N-D-I-A-N-A**, I clarified, fingerspelling the rest of the name.

**Oh, right.** He searched the ceiling for what he wanted to say next. **Is that why you're so sad? I mean...****_tired_****?**

Just what was Dajan trying to imply? **Nathaniel is my friend**, I said sternly.

He met my eyes fearlessly. **You miss him.**

**He's my ****_friend_**, I repeated, grinding my teeth, refusing to acknowledge that Dajan had hit the nail squarely on the head.

**Okay, okay! I understand. I'd be sad if you left, too…since you're my ****_friend_****.**

I couldn't believe he just said that.

I didn't know whether I should slap him or kiss him—so I stood still, my bare feet cemented to the carpet.

**I'm going to color more pictures!** Iana announced bubbily, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. She hopped down from the couch and skittered away down the hall to her pink room.

I reclaimed my seat next to Dajan, but this time I perched on the edge, not wanting to get _too_ close to him again. **Your sister is so cute**, I said, just for the sake of saying something—_anything_—that wasn't directly related to Nathaniel.

**She ****_is_**** cute, but…** I thought mentioning his sister's cuteness would cheer him up, maybe evoke one of his hundreds of smiles, but he stared straight ahead as though what I said saddened him somehow. **She… She lives inside her head**, he signed hesitantly. **Do you know what I mean?**

**She has a vivid imagination**, I agreed. **All kids do. What's wrong with that?**

**Yeah, but… She lives inside her head ****_most_**** of the time. She cries a lot. It's been a little better, since she got the implant. I can sing to her, and that usually calms her down.**

Dajan sings? He didn't strike me as the choir boy type…

Still… The mental image of Dajan singing a crying little girl to sleep made me feel things I wasn't prepared to feel. For a millisecond, I envied Iana's Cochlear implant. If I had one, maybe Dajan would sing to _me_ someday…

I shook the unwarranted feelings away and refocused on what Dajan was saying.

**But I'm worried**, said his hands and his furrowed brow. **She's had that implant for a while now, but she still won't talk. What if she'll never talk...like normal?**

**Hey! **I said defensively. **_I'll_**** never 'talk like normal,' and ****_I'm_**** okay.**

**You mean you don't want to learn how to talk? You could, if you got an implant like hers.**

For the second time that say, I found myself amazed at the things that came out of Dajan's hands. He didn't hold back what he was thinking; he didn't seem _capable_ of holding back.

He must not know about the taboo, then. Asking a deaf person to talk was like asking an amputee to dance, or taking a blind person to a silent film.

**Who says I need an implant?** I retaliated. **I'm talking to you now, aren't I? I don't need an implant for that.**

**You'd never want to hear your lover's voice? **he expounded. **Your parents? Your children? You don't want to know what your own name sounds like? Or music?**

Dajan was much deeper than I thought he was. I didn't realize he'd thought about my deafness in such great detail. He'd thought about it, obviously, but he didn't understand it. How could he? Most hearing people didn't understand.

**I ****_don't_**** need an implant**, I repeated for the second time, swallowing a sudden surge of anger that sprang into my mind in response to his ignorance. But that was just what it was: ignorance. I couldn't blame him for not knowing.

Maybe _this_ is what I'm supposed to be teaching him. Maybe _this_ was why Desirée wanted me come here for 'tutoring' in the first place.

**It'd be a shame if I never heard your voice**, he said suddenly, his eyes distant.

**I should go**, I snapped, and rose from my seat. If I started walking, I could text Mom to meet me halfway and pick me up...

Dajan was right in front of me in the blink of an eye, reaching out as though the wanted to touch me—but he recoiled at the last second and used his hands to explain himself instead. **No, I didn't mean… I'm worried about my little sister, but…if she turns out anything like you, I know she'll be okay.**

I rose my hands to say something back, but no words came to mind. I just stood there, inches from Dajan, my hands hovering in the air, not sure whether or not to reach out and…

I didn't expect to see Desirée burst through the door so soon.

_Mom!_ Dajan exclaimed, whirling around. _You're home…early._

She nodded and offered him a brief explanation before she noticed me standing there. **Oh, Jo, you're still here? **she asked as took off her work badge and hung it on the wall-mounted coat rack.

I wasn't sure if she was pleasantly surprised to see me or not. I didn't even realize the afternoon was already mostly gone. **Yeah, I'm still here**, I said cheerfully. **We've been having a lot of fun.**

Yes. I've been having fun alone in your house with your son. That sounds like a perfectly normal thing to say, right?

Thankfully, Desirée didn't take it that way—or if she did, she chose not to read into it. **Would you like to stay for dinner?** she asked. **We'd love to have you.**

**Sure!** I agreed.

**Great! What do you like?**

**Anything**, I gesticulated.

**Oh, I see! You're not picky like ****_my_**** kids. Is breakfast for dinner okay? Bacon? Eggs? Pancakes?**

All at once, I was aware of the fact that I hadn't eaten anything all day. I should have taken Dajan up on his offer for food when I first got here, but I was too apprehensive. **You had me at 'bacon,' **I said to Desirée with an appreciative smile.

She insisted that she didn't need any help preparing anything. Instead, Dajan and I played a few rounds of Candyland with Iana on the living room floor—which is how I found out both of them were dirty cheaters who would stop at nothing to win. The only thing that would put a stop to their nefarious cheating tactics was Desirée summoning us to the table to eat.

I couldn't help but notice I'd _just_ done this with Nathaniel's family not one week ago, and now I was doing the same thing over again with Dajan's. I was eating dinner with them, sure, but that was where the similarities ended. Nathaniel's mom had set her formal dining room table with platinum-banded Royal Doulton china, whereas Desirée's plates were all different colors: chartreuse, red, cobalt, maroon, even bright pink. At the Asads', there was no chandelier, no floral centerpiece, no red oakleaf and arugula salad. There was a lazy susan with all the necessary napkins and condiments, and the ceiling fan above us circulating the smoky bacon smell.

Desirée offered me stack of four fluffy pancakes, but she put a plate of entirely different food in front of Dajan: egg whites and pinkish turkey bacon in lieu of the real thing. He didn't even get pancakes; he got a halved grapefruit, and not so much as a sprinkle of sugar to take the edge off its sour bitterness. For Iana, she made smaller, silver dollar-sized pancakes she could eat without having to cut with a knife. Desirée pretty much prepared three different meals for four people, which had to have been somewhat taxing.

Dajan poked at his turkey bacon disapprovingly, but didn't eat so much as one bite of it. I felt guilty indulging in 'real' bacon in front of him, but not eating seemed even more rude.

Dajan was already rail-thin; why did Desirée feed him like he was on a diet? Was she that invested in his career as a high school athlete?

I watched Dajan as he glanced at me, then spoke to his mother out loud. I wasn't paying attention to the words; mostly I just liked watching his mouth…

Desirée was trying to get my attention on the other side of the table; I whipped my head to face her and tried to play it off like I wasn't just staring at Dajan, even though I totally was.

**D.J. tells me you're _not_ going to the high school**, she filled me in. **Didn't you know they'd _have_ to hire you an interpreter if you chose to go?**

**No, I didn't know that.** At the deaf school, such questions never really came up; everyone already spoke the same language, so interpreters weren't needed, at least not in that 'safe' environment. **Are you ****_sure_**** they would hire an interpreter for me if there are no other deaf students? It seems like an awful lot of trouble—**

**It ****_is_ a lot of trouble**, she said blatantly, **but they legally have to accommodate you if you want to attend school there. They won't turn you away. Hiring an interpreter for you falls within Reasonable Accommodations for disabled students in this school district. That's actually why we moved here last year; I wanted Iana to have the option of the accommodations while she gets used to her new implant.**

I looked over to Dajan, curious to see if he had any input. **Ask your parents**, was all he had to say about it. **I… I think it would be good.**

Did he not know the signs for what he wanted to say, or was he just reluctant to say it in front of his mother?

**I'll ask**, I told him, and left it at that.

My answer made him smile a tiny, humble smile I hadn't seen before.

Desirée waved at me again. **So tell me, how did she do today?** she asked as her scrambled eggs got cold. **Did she behave?**

Oh, right. I'm Iana's 'tutor.' Does that mean I'm supposed to critique her behavior like some kind of nanny? I thought I was here to have fun with her, and in the process get her used to signing. **Absolutely**, I assured her mother nonetheless. ** She's so sweet! I want to wrap her up and take her home!**

The way Dajan smirked into his drink glass at my comment made me want to take him home, too. He could stay the night. Or forever. Either way. If the couch downstairs wasn't long enough for him, there was always my bed…

Desirée turned to Iana next to her. **What did you learn today?**

Crap. Had I actually taught her _anything_? If I had to stop and think about it, the answer was probably 'no.'

Come on, Iana! Cover for me!

**I drew a picture, and she told us stories, and we played games**, Iana gushed. **_And_**** she held hands with D.J.!**

I dropped my fork; it clattered to the floor.

Dajan almost choken on a mouthful of grapefruit. _Hand positions_, spat defensively after he managed to swallow. **She was showing me _hand positions_, that's all!** he repeated in sign.

Desirée glared at him suspiciously. **Well, your hand positions ****_do_**** look sharper… **And to my horror, that ice-cold glare shifted to me. **Good work, you two**, were the words she used…but it felt more like an _I'm watching you._

I decompressed enough to finish my pancakes, and luckily there were no more incidents through the remainder of breakfast-for-dinner.

When all the syrupy plates were loaded into the dishwasher and the table was clear, I knew my day at the Asads' should come to an end soon, if I hadn't already overstayed my welcome. Dajan didn't seem to mind having me there…but his mother was making me nervous.

**Are you ready to go home? **Desirée finally suggested. **Do you want me to take you?**

**I'll take her**, Dajan volunteered before I could answer.

Once we were alone in D.J.'s car, he returned to his normal self; not the embarrassed ball of nerves he was around his mother. **I'm sorry about my mom**, he gestured when he came to a stop at a stop sign. **She's kind of…**

Overbearing? Bossy? Sets unrealistic expectations? Controlling? I'd learned a lot about Desirée Asad today. I learned that I didn't like her near as much as I thought I did after my first impression of her.

But I kept all those thoughts to myself. **I like your mom**, I said. **I can tell she loves you a lot.**

**I…** He whipped his head around to glare out the back window and flipped off whoever was behind us; they must have been honking at us for staying stopped in front of the stop sign too long.

As we neared my house, I checked my phone out of nervous habit, expecting to see at least one text from Nathaniel…but there were none.

Really? Not even _one_? After the night we had last night? After this morning?

Was he avoiding me on purpose, the way he had after my birthday? Was he ashamed of himself? I thought surely he would… I dunno… Miss me back.

I re-pocketed my phone and stared broodingly out the window, temporarily forgetting that I'd actually had a pretty enjoyable day with Dajan.

He let me out in front of my house, and I made the familiar trek up the driveway to the front door.

**Bye!** I waved to him before I went inside.

**Bye**, he returned shyly, and backed out into the street.

I gave vague, affirmative answers to my parents' questions about how it went and what we did; I was anxious to get up to my room, drawn to my computer as though my fingertips were magnetic. I had to put my worries about Nathaniel to rest.

The second I signed on, he greeted me enthusiastically—with an exclamation point, no less! "Hey!"

Overcome with relief and excitement, I immediately stopped caring about whether or not he had texted me that day. All that mattered was that he was here now. Well, he was sort of 'here.' He was as 'here' as he could be from a thousand miles away. "Hey! Are you busy unpacking?"

"No, I've been going to orientations, mostly. I was so bored the entire time. I didn't even have my phone to play with. I left my charger at home, so it died."

So he hadn't been ignoring me or avoiding me; his phone was dead. Looking back, it was probably a good thing he didn't text me at all that day. I wouldn't have been able to answer, since I was with Dajan…

He turned on his webcam and smiled tiredly back at me from the monitor. "I'll show you the Presidential Suite," he typed sarcastically, tilting his computer so that I could see.

The space behind him was bare and impersonal. All I could see of it was a cot with a bare, inches-thin mattress against a cinderblock wall painted a cold, unfeeling white.

"Swanky," I teased as he readjusted the webcam so that it showed his face.

"I know. They roll out the red carpet for us freshmen." The air conditioning must have made the room cold. I noticed he was wearing the white and gray jacket I left for him on his suitcase—which means he must have noticed the yearbook, too.

But had he noticed the picture? I was too afraid to ask; I asked him something completely different instead. "Do you have a roommate?"

"I will. He won't be here until tomorrow. I'm all alone, for now." He tilted his head. "Turn on your webcam, too. I need to see a familiar face."

I obliged, signing **hello** into the camera once the green light next to it told me it was on.

His smile expanded to twice its size when he saw me waving at him. "There she is! I've been meaning to ask where you've been all day."

"Dajan's house," I answered nonchalantly, still smiling.

Nathaniel almost tilted his chair completely over, but caught the edge of his desk just in time. "Why?" he asked, trying to keep his face neutral.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "Tutoring his little sister." In reality, I'd been tutoring D.J. just as much (if not more) than Iana, but I chose to leave that part of the truth out. "She's deaf too, remember?"

"I forgot all about that," Nathaniel said with a sideways glance.

"Speaking of school… Do you think I should enroll at the high school?"

He frowned. "How would that work? I thought you were doing homeschool."

"They could hire an interpreter. D.J.'s mom said they legally have to let me in if I decide I want to go."

"D.J.?"

"That's his name-sign." I signed **D-J** into the camera for him to see. "It looks a lot like mine. Mine's J-O," I typed before demonstrating my own.

"Even your name in sign language is beautiful," he let slip from his fingers—but before I could react, he regressed to the previous topic. "You should go to school, if it's possible. I didn't even know that was an option."

"I still haven't decided yet. It was just a thought, really."

"No, you really should go. It would be a waste if you stayed at home all day—especially since it's your senior year. Your last year is supposed to be fun. You could make some friends. There are some nice kids there."

"I guess you're right. Dajan will be there, too."

"Yeah, great. Even better." His words were encouraging, but the look on his face as he typed Dajan's name was far from it.

As I watched him watch me, there was a sweet sadness in his eyes I couldn't quite think of a word for. It was like he was lonely, even though he could see me and talk to me. An indescribable emotion that felt a lot like how his eyes looked crept into the back of my mind. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. It made me want to say things I would regret in the morning.

I wanted to keep talking to Nathaniel for hours, just like we used to, but…I had to sign off, even if I didn't fully understand why.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm tired," I wrote. "Try to get some sleep, won't you? You might as well catch up on sleep while you have the room to yourself."

He _looked_ tired, but I knew he wouldn't allow himself to go to sleep for several more hours. "I'm fine," he wrote as he tried to smile. "Good night, Johanna."

**Good night**, I signed into the webcam—and before I could stop myself, **I miss you.**

He watched me as I drew the words in the air. "Wait, what was that last part?"

"Nothing. Good night, Nathaniel." I signed off.


	15. Chapter 15

**Black and Blue**

I had to catch Mom at her best. I couldn't bother her when she was trying to get work done. Sunday night ushered in a contented stillness in which the house and the whole neighborhood around us was at peace. The perfect opportunity arose just as Mom settled into the living room couch to thumb through Real Simple magazine and sip a sweating glass of iced tea.

**Mom?**

She looked surprised to see me away from my computer. Usually, for me, humdrum nights like there were devoted to chatting with Nathaniel. **What's up, Kiddo?** she asked cheerily, motioning for me to join her on the couch.

I held my ground and stood in front of her, waving away her offer to sit down. **Mom, I want to go to the high school.**

It went right over her head. **Go to the high school? For what?**

**For, like, school. I want to…go to there.** I tripped up, adding a few superfluous signs—but what part of what I said didn't she understand? Why _else_ would I want to go to the high school?

She inhaled deeply and let her magazine drop to the floor. **We talked about this before, Jo.**

I wasn't off to a very good start; I was already losing her. **We ****_did_**** talk about it, yes, but…** Desirée Asad was her friend, right? Maybe it would help my case if I dropped her name. **Desirée said that if I want to go to school there, the administration ****_has_**** to find me an interpreter. I could go to an all-hearing school if I had an interpreter. Easy. No problem.**

Dad had been watching the entire conversation from the doorway that lead to the kitchen. At this point, he had to interject. **Those hearing kids aren't going to understand you like they did at the School for the Deaf. Hearing kids who aren't used to people like us are ****_cruel_****, Jo.** Dad knew all too well about the cruelty of hearing children; he was the only deaf boy in his hometown in Iowa growing up. His deafness kept him from communicating, which kept him from making any real friends—until he went to Gallaudet, the deaf college in Washington D.C., where he met Mom.

I knew he meant 'understand' to mean 'identify with' or 'empathize with,' but I took a more literal approach. **_Obviously_**** the other kids aren't going to understand me, Dad. That's what the ****_interpreter_**** is for.**

**Don't talk to your father that way**, Mom scolded me. She was making me feel like I was twelve years old again—and not in a warm-fuzzy, nostalgic kind of way. She must have seen the pain on my face, because she took a deep breath before she continued, this time signing more softly. **They ****_will_**** hire you an interpreter, yes, but the interpreter can't do anything to help you if you start getting bullied, or… Or what about what happened last year? An interpreter can't help you if you…if you ****_involve_**** yourself with—**

**Mom!** I cut her off. The self-inflicted wounds from the mistake I made were fresh in my memory; I didn't need her to remind me. **What's happening ****_now_**** has nothing to do with what happened ****_last year_****.**

**Kiddo, we ****_wanted_**** to give you the option, but—**

**Wait! Wait, so…** I clenched my fists in anger, and my signs became indignant thrashing motions. **You ****_knew_**** I could go to the regular high school if I wanted, but you didn't ****_tell_**** me? You kept it from me ****_on purpose_****?**

Which of us is the liar now, Mom? Which of us is undeserving of the other's trust?

**Only because I think homeschool is your best chance of graduating**, she upheld. **If you go to that school, it will be a huge adjustment! Are you sure you're ready to take on that kind of responsibility?**

**The way you talk about that little high school…you make it out to be a horrible place, but you haven't even given me the chance to try!**

I thought immediately of Nathaniel; I even imagined him standing over my shoulder. He came out of that school, didn't he? It can't be that terrible.

**Don't I at least deserve a ****_chance_****? **I begged. **Please?**

Mom looked to Dad, her crows' feet tugging as her eyes became misty with tears.

Dad's distrust of the hearing was ingrained so deep, I knew he wouldn't be completely on board—no matter what kind of accommodations the school provided for me. If they put me in an impervious plastic bubble, he would still fear for me.

But I still had a wild card I could pull out anytime to win him over.

**What about D.J.?** I said simply. **He goes to the same school. He's new, too. He's made adjustments. He understands. And he'll be there with me if I ever…if I ever need someone.**

Dad blinked, running a hand over his smooth, silvering hair. His eyes were still every bit as hesitant as Mom's, but he nodded a wordless **okay**.

* * *

"It's settled," I told Nathaniel in an excited text. "Mom talked to the principal of SAHS yesterday to arrange a meeting. As long as I have all the paperwork I need, I can start next Monday with everybody else."

"That's great news!" he replied. "You have to tell me what teachers you have when you get your schedule."

I almost ran into mom as I tottered behind her, both hands and eyes focused on reading what Nathaniel had written. She pushed the shopping cart, intermittently stopping to grab mechanical pencils or post-its or spiral notebooks. We hadn't anticipated needing any of these for online homeschooling, so we had to go back-to-school shopping—along with everyone else in town. As summer was nearing its end, it seemed every mother in Sweet Amoris was at the store stocking up.

**Pay attention to where you're ****_going_**, Mom quipped as I came up beside her. **What else do you need?**

**Shoes?** I asked meekly. I left my most reliable pair at Dajan's house; I didn't even realize I was barefoot the entire drive home.

Mom shook her head and smiled. **At least you have your priorities straight. Let's get out of here and go to the mall!**

In the checkout line, my phone vibrated again, and I assumed the text would be Nathaniel—but it wasn't. "It's been a while," it read. "Have you been getting into trouble without me?"

I hand't seen Dajan since our 'tutoring' session two weeks ago. Every once in a while he would text me, asking me to meet him somewhere or come over—but every time I had to tell him no. I'd been busy helping Mom and Dad at the studio with the rush of high schoolers coming in to get senior portraits taken.

"Trouble? Without you? Never," I texted back playfully. "But I do have a surprise for you."

"You didn't have to do that," he responded. "My birthday isn't until April."

"You don't have to wait until April. You'll know what it is next Monday," I wrote cryptically, stifling a laugh.

"I don't get a hint?"

"You already know what it is." At least, he _should_ know; _he_ was the one who was so insistent that I go to SAHS after all. I huffed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes as I tapped the letters with my thumbs.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He was obviously playing dumb. "You'll know it when you see it," I assured him.

Meanwhile, I was trying to think of ways to convince Mom to buy me a new outfit in addition to a new pair of shoes—so that I would make a good impression on Dajan when he saw that _I_ was his surprise.

* * *

My first class is supposed to start in, like, seven minutes. Should I be worried if my interpreter isn't here yet?

I decided I would give her more time before I started freaking out. It was the first day, after all, and she probably didn't live around here. Maybe she just got lost?

I had no idea what to expect from my classes or my teachers. Nathaniel had been no help, since he took all Advanced Placement classes (he _would_, since he was such a dweeb) which had different teachers than _my_ classes would have. I was sure non-Advanced-Placement classes would be challenging enough, since my attention would be torn between the teacher and the interpreter…who, by the way, was _still_ not here, with only five minutes until first period.

With the time I had left, I was supposed to be filling out some last-minute paperwork. (I _thought_ Mom and Dad had taken care of everything when they met with the principal, but whatever.) The checklist on the table in front of me listed my options for 'extracurricular' activities and athletics. For boys, the options were: football, basketball, and track. For girls: volleyball, cheerleading, and track. There was also a 'basketball club' and a 'gardening club' for either boys or girls.

… Hm. Not a whole lot of selection. No swimming. No diving. No soccer. No rugby. No lacrosse. No drill team. And definitely no gymnastics. For now, I would hold onto the list without committing to anything just yet. If I decided to do anything after school, I knew, the administration wasn't responsible for making sure I'd have an interpreter; I'd be more or less on my own, dependent on the kindness and patience of the other kids.

I gathered up the completed paperwork—with the exception of the extracurricular activities list—and filed it neatly in the folder to hand back to the student body president. I assumed that was who she was, anyway. She was the one who brought me to this unused classroom—the student council room, according to the bulletin board on the wall—and tasked me with filling out the papers.

The petite, red-haired, blue-eyed girl looked like she had no idea what she was doing. She tossed her loose braid over her shoulder and flitted from one file cabinet to another as though looking for something, but she forgot what she was supposed to be looking for and had to consult a hand-written checklist attached to a clipboard. Upon closer inspection of the clipboard, I recognized the neat, square handwriting as Nathaniel's. This girl must be his replacement. Didn't he say he used to be the student body president?

I couldn't help but notice the traces of Nathaniel Weiss everywhere in this room, in this school which had been so important to his life just one year ago. His face was in every one of the photos in the collage stapled to the bulletin board. His handwriting was on all the labels on the file cabinet drawers. If my family had moved here sooner, maybe I would be meeting him this way instead: filling out paperwork, paying a stupid admittance fee, getting a not-so-flattering picture taken for my I.D., and following him around the maze-like hallways like a lost puppy. _That_ would have been a boring first impression for both of us.

I got up from my seat and pushed in my chair so that she would know I'd finished. She smiled and nodded a thank-you when I handed her my file—then she dropped it, and the papers I'd just put in order spilled out all over the floor.

As the red-haired girl and I stooped to gather them up again, we were hastily joined by one of the other new students filling out papers for his own file. I was glad to see I wasn't the only brand-new student starting this year. There were two others: identical twin brothers who were clearly going through a rebellious we're-different-poeple-so-treat-us-as-such phase.

They were both dressed peculiarly, but the one who helped us pick up the papers was dressed in brightly-colored clothes so loud they _screamed_—and _that_, coming from a deaf girl, is saying something. His traffic-cone-orange jacket and the clunky green headphones he wore around his neck made him distinguishable from a mile away. He even went so far as to dye his hair bright a Caribbean blue and wear _magenta_ contacts to change the color of his eyes.

Once my papers were back in order, we all stood up, and the red-haired girl went back to her puttering and flitting. The Blue twin seemed to like me. Rather than return to his own stack of papers, I think he gave me a compliment on my hair color—at least, I _hoped_ that was what he was doing when he stroked my ponytail admiringly.

His brother, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, his paperwork untouched. While not quite so loud as his twin's, his style was undeniably metro, highlighted by an H & M scarf coiled around his neck, a loose shabby-chic shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and painstakingly coiffed black hair—which I assumed was both twins' natural color. I would have questioned Black's heterosexuality (especially because of the scarf) if I hadn't seen him craning his neck to watch the red-haired girl bend over to pick up the avalanche of papers. Even now, his shifty cobalt eyes followed the movement of her hips as she fumbled around the room.

The Black twin caught me staring at him and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. _Hey_, he purred, his eyebrows shooting up to hide behind his purposefully messy bangs—and then he asked me a question, but I couldn't read it because he was rolling a tube of cherry Chapstick over his parted lips as he spoke.

I shrugged and hoped and unspoken _I dunno_ was an acceptable answer to whatever he asked.

Black laughed, re-capping his Chapstick and shoving it into the pocket of his tight-fitting jeans. _You don't know your name?_

Crap. Is _that_ what he said?

I pulled my class schedule out of my backpack and showed it to him so that he could read "Johanna Edeline Quirke" across the top in bold block lettering.

_Jo-ha-nna_, he annunciated. _Am I saying that right?_

I blinked a few times, and tilted my head to squint at him.

Seriously? You just asked a deaf girl if you were _pronouncing_ her name right?

Eh. I'll let him fret about it until he figures it out. I don't feel like writing him out an 'I'm deaf' explanation.

The twins consulted their own timetables, comparing them to each other's and then to mine. I came around to read over their shoulders. "Alexander Glenn Underwood" had almost every class with me, but "Armin Bryce Underwood" and I only had one together: fifth period U.S. History.

Alexander and Armin, huh? But which was which?

Black said something into his brother's ear, coyly hiding his mouth behind his hand—which would annoy me under normal circumstances, but for some reason I thought it was kind of cute.

Blue thought sternly for a few moments about whatever Black had to say, then finally nodded in agreement. When he looked back to me, his (bright _pink_) eyes were full of something halfway between pity and admiration. My guess was that Black had figured it out: new girl must be deaf.

The twins jumped up suddenly and shouldered their bags, most likely spurred into action by a tardy bell I couldn't hear. The Black twin followed the red-haired student body president out the door and down the hall to the left. The Blue twin started out the door to turn to the right, but stopped and looked back to me expectantly. _Well? Are you coming?_

Oh. He has the same first period class as me. And we were going to be late, if we weren't late already.

What should I do? Should I go to class and wait around until my interpreter shows up, or should I go down to the administrative office and wait there? I guess I'd be stuck waiting either way.

_God_ I hated waiting.

While I contemplated my options, Blue lazily shifted his weight from one foot to the other and dug a hand into the crook of his hip. _Well?_ he repeated.

Alright, _fine_. No need to get all sassy.

I'll go to class. Who knows? Maybe I'll _learn_ something.

I shouldered my own backpack and pulled my hair out from under the straps, following Blue out into the hall. We passed room after room on both sides of the empty hallway until we reached the number where our first class was supposed to be: English with Mrs. Julien.

Inside was every new kid's worst nightmare: about twenty strangers, all of them already seated and still, turning around in their desks to look at me—to _stare_ at me. The teacher had her back turned to us at first, too, because she was writing on the dry erase board. She seemed annoyed to see us standing in the doorway, obviously tardy.

Blue broke the ice. He flashed Mrs. Julien a smile and uttered an apology for our lateness—probably something about having to fill out paperwork because we were new.

Mrs. Julien must have been one of those mushy-gushy, touchy-feely English teachers; she smiled at us warmly and accepted Blue's excuse without question. Then she did exactly what I hoped she _wouldn't_ do. She asked Blue and me to introduce ourselves, motioning for us to stand at the front of the classroom. Blue was pleasant and amicable as he took his place in the limelight, giving the class a short monologue about who he was and where he came from. When his lips stopped moving, Mrs. Julien lead the rest of the class in a spirited round of applause. And then everyone, including Blue, looked to me.

Yeah. An interpreter would be super helpful right about now.

Desperately, pleadingly, I gave Mrs. Julien a meaningful look—but if she had been forewarned about having a deaf student in her class, she gave no indication.

I let my backpack fall off my shoulder as I sighed exasperatedly. No one expected me to turn my back to the class and take up a dry erase marker, but what else was I supposed to do?

"Johanna Quirke," I wrote, off to the side from where Mrs. Julien had been writing a self-righteous Hemingway quote.

I looked to Mrs. Julien to see if that was sufficient. She frowned at my name on the board, tilting her head confusedly as her painted lips asked a question I couldn't read.

"I'm deaf," I spelled out in tall, clear letters, the strong smell of the marker making my eyes water. "I don't speak. I'm supposed to have an interpreter, but she's late. Until she gets here, all questions must be submitted in writing."

I meant for that last part to be a joke and tried to smile to soften it, but the words on the dry erase board only made the other kids mumble, murmur, and whisper behind their hands.

_Oh, okay_, Mrs. Julien said, nodding obsequiously.

The rest of that hour, I sat at a little desk in the corner next to the Blue twin and flipped through the textbook, unable to participate in whatever the rest of the class was doing. Blue cast me a few pitying glances, but what could he do? Nothing, really.

I knew class was over when everyone else got up to leave…and my interpreter was _still_ nowhere to be seen.

Second period Biology was even worse, the teacher even more clueless and less understanding. I learned that the Blue twin was Alexander, but he shortened it to Alexy—which meant his brother was Armin. Alexy volunteered himself to be my lab partner for the rest of the semester, which was good, I supposed; that way I wouldn't be completely alone. I recognized a few of the faces of my classmates from senior portraits my parents had taken. I'd even met a few of them at the studio—but none of them returned my smiles and waves. They stayed glued to their own lab stools, probably wondering what _I_ was doing _here_.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly handicapped.

Everything will be fine once my interpreter gets here. I haven't been bullied like Mom feared; I haven't witnessed the _cruelty_ of hearing kids like Dad said I would. If I could only understand what everyone was saying…

I hadn't seen Dajan in any of my classes yet, but thought I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye when I was in the hallway trying to find third period Calc. Did I just imagine it? No, that was definitely him; his distinctive head with its long dreadlocked hair towered over the other unfamiliar figures. But he was gone the next time I blinked.

He can't be _avoiding_ me, can he?

No, he didn't notice me. If he had, he would have come over to me to say hello. To smile at me. To talk to me. To help me.

I had to suffer through just one more class, and then I could check on the status of my interpreter at the front office during lunch. I might not have had any classes with Dajan yet, but there were only two lunch periods; there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would have fourth period lunch like I did.

After a mind-numbingly boring hour, Calculus ended, I sprang up like everyone else. We all spilled out into the hallway. While the girls dug in their purses for makeup compacts and the guys absentmindedly checked their phones, I made a beeline for the stairwell and marched straight down to the office.

Seriously. The day was half over, and I hadn't been told anything about whether or not she was even coming anymore.

I breezed past the athletic offices and a wall of vending machines—and that's where I finally found him. Dajan and about six other beefy guys, some wearing red-and-white letterman jackets, were feeding ones and fives into the vending machines in exchange for bags of Skittles and lemon-lime Powerades.

Seeing those honey eyes lessened the heaviness I'd carried with me since that morning. I watched for a moment as he and his jock friends laughed and joked about something I didn't know about and didn't really care about; all I knew was that it was making him smile that toothy, honest smile I'd come to…appreciate.

I couldn't stand to watch for more than a few seconds. I needed to talk to him. I felt dumb and mute; I needed _someone to talk to_, period.

**D.J.!** I swung my arms excitedly. **D.J., I'm so glad to see you! You will not ****_believe_**** the day I've had so far!**

He didn't use his hands to talk back. He held tight to his unopened Powerade, picking at the cap with his fingernail.

He…he wasn't happy to see me, too? I thought he wanted me here…

**What's the matter?** I asked, screwing my face into a frown. **Don't you ****_sign_**** anymore? Did you forget how?**

I caught a few subtle movements in my periphery. As I gaped around at the other jocks, I saw that their smug faces were as amused as they were perplexed. Who is this girl, they were probably wondering, and why is she signaling to Dajan like an air traffic controller?

One of them cracked a smile. Then another. Then another. And…oh, no. That one was definitely laughing. And now that one.

And now…Dajan.

Dajan was _laughing at me_.


	16. Chapter 16

**Forfeit**

The sting of tears burned at the corners of my eyes—but I fought hard to keep my jaw stern and still as Dajan continued to laugh, his eyes fixed on his untied basketball shoes.

As badly as I wanted to tell him to go screw himself, I knew the sign for **fuck you** would only make his jock friends laugh harder. Instead, I stormed away without another word and refused to look back.

Fine. If that's the way you want it, Dajan...

I took refuge in the nearest girls' bathroom and locked myself in the pseudo-privacy of the handicapped stall for I didn't know how long. I didn't care if the bell rang. I didn't care what time it was or where I was supposed to be.

Dad was right. I should never have come here. I should have stayed in my room with my computer where I belonged. Here, I was alone. No interpreter. No friends. … I just wanted to go home.

The image that came to mind when I thought of 'home' wasn't that red brick house on the other side of town. It wasn't even the house I'd called home for seventeen years in Virginia. If home was a place at all, it was the tailgate of an old GMC truck under a night sky alight with fireworks.

As if in answer to my desperate prayer, an inbound text lit up the screen of my phone; it shone through the front pocket of my backpack like a homing beacon. I pulled apart the zipper, wanting so badly for it to be Nathaniel I had to fight even harder not to cry.

And it was. Of course it was. "How's your first day going?" he asked nonchalantly.

I kept my response short, so as not to start the waterworks that threatened to spill from behind my eyes. "Well... It's fourth period, and my interpreter still isn't here."

"What?! Why not?"

"I have no idea. No one has told me anything." That was more true than I let on. No one had gone out of their way to attempt to communicate with me all day—no one, except maybe Armin. He at least cared enough to ask my name.

"If your interpreter doesn't show up soon, I want you to go home. Everyone would understand. They wouldn't hold it against you."

It was too good to be true. Weren't there _any_ rules at this school? "Are you sure they would let me just up and leave?"

"I'll call the principal for you and tell her what happened. She'll let you go."

"No, don't do that." Nathaniel didn't have to shoulder this responsibility for me; he wasn't even in the same state as me anymore. He had his own life to worry about. "I'll have Mom talk to her."

"Okay," he relented. "Text me when you get home. I'll wait for you on IM."

I let myself breathe a sigh of relief. There was a way out. This nightmarish day would soon be over—and even though he couldn't climb through my window, Nathaniel still found a way to be there for me when I needed him most.

… Unlike Dajan.

With that, I could stave off tears no longer, and I felt them trickle out over my hot cheeks. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I mopped my weary eyes with a wad of scratchy toilet paper. I was trying to muster the courage to unlatch the door and step out of the stall to rinse my face in the sink—when day-glo orange boots that could only have been Alexy Underwood's suddenly appeared in the space beneath.

At first I panicked, thinking maybe I'd accidentally stormed into the boys' bathroom instead of the girls'...but no, this was _definitely_ the girls' bathroom. The other pairs of shoes I'd seen come and go beneath the stalls were all girls', and that was definitely a tampon wrapper in the wastebasket in the corner. So what was _Alexy_ doing here?

He knelt down and handed me a folded-up sheet of notebook paper. His handwriting was squat and feminine, and he pressed down too hard with his bright blue pen, leaving gobs of ink in the curves of all his C's and S's. "I thought I might find you here, Johanna! Come on out of there! Fifth period starts in five minutes!"

He came in here specifically to find me? How did he know I was here? Unless...he _saw_ me try to talk to Dajan and get shot down.

Oh, kill me now.

How many others saw it?

Hiccupping, I dug into my backpack for a pen. "Thanks for the heads-up," I scribbled back, using my knee as a somewhat-sturdy writing surface, "but I'd rather go home." I wanted to throw his stupid note back at him, but I handed it back to him gently. It wasn't _Alexy's_ fault Dajan was a jerk and my interpreter was absent; being mean to Alexy would only make me feel worse about everything.

His response was crooked and wavy, the letters crinkly from being written against the textured surface of the bathroom stall door. "Why? What's wrong, Baby Gurl? Are you sick?"

"No, but I'm ready for today to be over. I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Everyone keeps staring at me like they've never seen a deaf girl before."

Alexy didn't even acknowledge my use of the 'D' word. He was completely unfazed. "Let them stare! I bet it's not everyday a cutie like you transfers in. Armin has the same fifth period as you. He'll take care of you. Between you and me, I think he likes you. You're so his type!"

Ugh. Was _this_ Alexy's attempt at making me feel better? I should go to class, because his brother 'likes' me? What _was _Armin's 'type,' exactly? Tall? Strawberry blonde? Long legs? Freckles? … Silent?

Even if he had been civil to me before, I wasn't so sure I wanted Armin to 'take care' of me, in U.S. History or anywhere else. That role had already been filled—and the rightful filler of that role was waiting for me to get home and sign on to Instant Messenger.

"Thanks again," I wrote back, biting my tongue angrily, "but really, I have to get out of here. And so do you! This is the girls' bathroom, creep!"

I saw Alexy's face light up with laughter through the gap between the stall door and the hinge. "You don't have to worry about me creeping on you. No offense or anything, but you're not my type. Girls in general aren't my type, if you catch my drift."

The fact that Alexy was gay—which came as no surprise—was of little comfort in this situation. I was still mortified, and still without an interpreter.

"If you want to help, go tell the principal I'm leaving early," I wrote on the reverse side of the page. We were running out of room. In my opinion, this idiotic conversation had gone on far too long.

"But the principal is the one who sent me to find you! She wants me to tell you that they found a substitute interpreter, and she's on her way now. She should make it to fifth period."

_Why _didn't he just say that from the _beginning_ instead of writing me a novel about how Armin allegedly likes me?

Gay or straight, I would never understand men.

I heaved myself up from my seat on the toilet and emerged from the seclusion of my stall.

A short girl in a flowered headband and a pink dress was washing her hands at one of the sinks, all the while gawking at us both, not quite sure what to make of this scene. She clearly wasn't pleased to see Alexy in here. _Ew_, her oily face grimaced, the rubber bands on her braces stretching apart. _Get out of here!_

Alexy rolled his hot pink eyes at her and scoffed something that made the girl recoil in disgust. She stomped away in a temper, her little dress twirling delicately.

Alexy turned back to me and laughed, stretching his arms up behind his head. _See?_ his carefree smile seemed to say. _I've got your back._

Alright, I told myself, finally cracking a smile through my gummy tears. If fifth period _still_ sucks with the added help of an interpreter and Armin, I'm going home. End of story. This is your last chance, Sweet Amoris High School.

After I (hopefully) rinsed away any signs of redness and puffiness from my eyes, Alexy and I were met by Armin in the hallway, which was empty again. The bell for fifth period must have already rang. All three of us were late.

The twins exchanged words, Alexy's eyebrows arcing widely and Armin's cherry lips curling into a self-satisfied smile. Alexy waved goodbye and made for a different classroom, then I let Armin lead me to U.S. History.

We were definitely late, and I got yet another dose of being ogled at by twenty strangers when Armin and I walked in. The desks were long tables that were meant to seat two, and the only empty table left was the one in the front and center.

You'll never guess who was sitting at the table right behind it.

Just _seeing_ him sitting there made my blood boil—his long arms crossed, his feet stretching carelessly out into the aisle as he leaned back in his chair. Dajan looked up at me from lowered lids. His attempt to clandestinely sign me a feeble **hey **only infuriated me more.

I threw back a nasty, unabated **_fuck_**** you**. If he didn't know what the sign meant, he could surely guess; as signs go, it was pretty literal.

Armin, meanwhile, had been talking to the teacher. Mr. Faraize, according to the name on my class schedule, looked looked like he was still in his twenties, though years of worry creased his forehead. He pushed his round glasses further up the bridge of his long nose and nodded when he understood what Armin had said. Armin gestured in my direction, and Mr. Faraize's eyes found me as I begrudgingly took the seat in front of Dajan.

I smiled sheepishly and shrugged slightly.

As Armin took his place next to me, Mr. Faraize tried to get the rest of the class's attention by yelling over their chit-chatting. No one took him seriously, though, and went right on with their conversations. He clapped his hands and yelled some more, but that didn't work, either.

I rolled my eyes. This guy has _no idea_ what he's doing. And to think I had kind of been looking forward to History, since it was my favorite subject. The sooner my interpreter gets here, the better.

From behind me, I felt someone's fingers graze my ponytail and tap my shoulder. I knew it was Dajan. I swatted at his hand like I would shoo away a bothersome fly.

Armin turned in his chair and gave Dajan a careful once-over before writing me a note in the margin of a blank page in his notebook. Armin was a lefty; his elbow pushed uncomfortably against my right arm as he wrote. We really should have switched places, but it was too late for that now. "You already know that guy?" his note read. His handwriting was nothing like his twin's: small and scrunched together, the tails of his Y's dipping way beneath the rest of the letters.

"You could say that," I scrawled back, shoving his elbow out of the way. Talking about Dajan was doing nothing to improve my mood.

"Your boyfriend?" Armin pried.

He just _had_ to go there, didn't he? "No. He's no one," I scribbled, nullifying Armin's suspicion.

Oh, hell. That probably made it sound like Dajan _had once been_ someone to me. Then again, maybe he had. He had me going for a while there, playing the 'protective older brother' card, assuming the role of the misunderstood 'new kid in town.' But now I knew better. That was just a front. Underneath, he was just like the rest of them.

How did I think a boy like Dajan could ever understand someone like me, with or without sign language?

Right when I thought this situtation couldn't get any more dismal, the entire class erupted into movement, distracted by something that came rushing through the door. The blur of color made a beeline straight for me.

She was the _last_ person I expected to see today—though I'd be lying if I said I was disappointed. The little girl's sweet smile could brighten even a day as crappy as this one had been.

**Iana, what are ****_you_**** doing here?** I signed, half-smiling, half-frowning. Was she really here, or was I going nuts and just imagining things at this point?

But no, she was real, and she was really here. She hopped into my lap, kicking her sneakered feet, enveloping me in the soft, sweet smell of her hair and her skin. **Hi, Jo! **she waved, the pink and turquoise beads in her hair swaying. **Hi, D.J.!** she waved over my shoulder—but I declined to turn my head to see Dajan's reaction. **We're in your school! We came to help!**

Wait... 'We?'

Oh, no, my substitute interpreter _can't_ be—

As soon as I guessed it, Dajan's mother bust through the doorway, her heavy handbag over her shoulder, her work badge haphazardly thrown around her neck. **Iana, get ****_back_**** here**, she signed furiously. Her ice-cold eyes alone were enough to make Iana jump down from my lap stare back helplessly, as though caught in a tractor beam. **_What_**** did I say about running ahead of me? This isn't like kindergarten. This is a school for ****_big_**** kids, so you have to pretend you're a big kid and ****_sit quietly_**** the way big kids do. Can you do that for me?**

Iana wordlessly nodded and settled into the corner behind Mr. Faraize's desk, obediently taking a _Princess and the Frog_ coloring book out of her tiny pink backpack. When she was sure her mother wasn't looking, she cast me another smiley **hi, Jo!** that I couldn't help but return.

Desirée turned to Mr. Farazie, letting her handbag fall off her shoulder. The way she shook her head and held her hands in the air seemed to suggest that she was apologizing profusely for the intrusion and the interruption.

**Desirée?** I asked meekly when I thought I could get her attention. **What's going on? What happened to the interpreter who was ****_supposed_**** to be here?**

**I don't know**, she shot back exasperatedly. **They told me it was a 'family emergency,' but they never said what kind. All I know is she can't be here today.**

I felt all eyes on me as I signed back and forth with Desirée. For a fleeting second, I thought maybe I could understand why Dajan was reluctant to sign to me at first. I was attracting a lot of attention—and not the kind I liked or needed on a day like today.

**I'm sorry**, I apologized to Desirée. I wasn't even sure what I was apologizing for.

**It's ****_alright_****, Jo,** she assured me. Her tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but the ice in her eyes remained. **It's not your fault. I guess if this had to happen, it's a good thing it happened on my day off.** The way she flung her hands was bitter and almost sarcastic. She obviously thought she had better things to do with her day off.

I expected Desirée to at least _acknowledge_ Dajan, but she didn't even glance at him—probably trying to maintain some degree of professional detachment, which was made even more difficult by Iana's presence.

**Why is Iana with you?** I couldn't help but ask.

**She goes to half-day kindergarten in the morning. I didn't arrange a sitter for her today because I thought I would have the day off. I tried to call every sitter I know, but ****_all_**** of them are busy—even your mom. I had no choice but to bring her with—you leave her ****_alone_****, Missy! Go back over there and sit quietly like I ****_told_**** you!**

I flinched because at first I thought that she was scolding _me_, but Desirée had caught sight of Iana trying to tiptoe back to my desk from her spot in the corner. Reluctantly, Iana sat back down among her crayons, dismayed at having been caught.

Desirée continued, **I know the situation isn't ideal—for ****_any_**** of us—but we're going to have to make it work for today.** When she signed 'for _any_ of us,' did her eyes flit behind my head to include Dajan among 'us,' or did I just imagine that?

**Yeah, I... I guess.** I wasn't sure how comfortable I was with this—especially with Iana here. I didn't even think _I_ belonged here, but I _knew_ high school was no place for a five-year-old.

… I liked it better when I had _no_ interpreter.

Once everyone calmed down, Mr. Faraize dove into a hastily-thrown-together review activity he'd prepared for the first day. Although Desirée was fluent in ASL, she was slow. By the time she interpreted one of Mr. Faraize's review questions, someone else had already answered it out loud and Mr. Faraize moved on to the next one without pausing.

Armin, meanwhile, wasn't paying attention to the review. I chanced a glance over at him while Desirée struggled to think of the right sign for a word Mr. Faraize said. Whatever Armin was talking about, the girls sitting at the next table found hilarious. They hid their giggles behind small, dainty hands. I recognized one of them as the girl in the pink dress from girls' bathroom. She smiled a closed-mouth Cheshire cat smile, her shifty green eyes landing on me for the briefest of milliseconds before they danced back to Armin.

Was Armin talking about _me_?

I blinked, and the atmosphere went from uncomfortable to downright terrifying. Dajan was leaning across the table behind us, a fistful of Armin's scarf and shirt clenched in his fist. The muscles in his lean arms rippled dangerously, as did the muscles in his face, contorting it into a threatening scowl. His other hand tightened into a fist, too—and I thought I was seconds away from witnessing an all-out fight.

I scrambled to say something, but my signs were a jumbled, trembling mess. **D.J., what are you—?**

All that remained of Desirée's professional detachment flew out the window. She came up behind Armin, untangling Dajan's hand from his clothes and scolding her son with a sour, chagrined mouth I couldn't read.

I was lost.

What is going _on_ here?

My heart was pounding out of control inside my chest. It throbbed so hard I felt it in my jaw, in my ears, in my neck.

What could Armin have possibly said to deserve getting (almost) punched in the face?

Mr. Faraize motioned to the door, a mortified shade of red creeping up from under his starched white collar. _Out_, he commanded Dajan. _Principal's office. Now._

The mouths of the wide-eyed lookers on all scrunched into _ooooh_s as Dajan angrily slung his backpack over his shoulder and stalked out of the room, the top of his head within inches of grazing the door frame.

**What did he ****_say_****?** I demanded of Desirée.

Her eyes shifted from the empty seat where Dajan had been, then back to me. **He said, 'What did you say?'**

**No, not D.J.—****_this_**** guy,** I clarified, pointing to Armin. **What did ****_this_**** guy say that made D.J. so mad?**

Desirée's eyes shifted again—from Armin, then back to me. **I... I don't know. I didn't hear. I was paying attention to the teacher.**

Some interpreter _you_ are.

I sprang out of my seat and made for the door, abandoning my backpack. If I moved fast, I would still be able to catch Dajan in the hall before he got to the principal's office.

**Jo, get back here!** Desirée gestured, not unlike how she would scold her five-year-old daughter.

**_Please_****, Desirée! Let me talk to him on his own!** I wasn't so much _asking_ her as _telling_ her. **I won't take long. I'll be right back. Tell Mr. F. for me, okay?**

She shook her head. **Jo, if you walk out that door, you're forfeiting your right to an interpreter for the rest of the day. I won't wait around for you to come back, do you understand?**

I didn't care. I _had_ to make sure Dajan was okay. In my mind, I was already gone. **Fine**, I signed back—then turned and left her there.

I sprinted down the halls, rushing past the classroom doors as quickly as I could so as not to be caught by a teacher or hall monitor.

Did Iana see what happened? Would she have been able to hear whatever Armin said? Would she have understood what it meant? I hoped not.

What was Dajan _thinking_, snapping on Armin like that, knowing his mom and his sister were right there to see it?

I caught up with Dajan about halfway through his slow, brooding trudge to the principal's office, not far from where I'd found him earlier during our lunch hour. He whirled around to face me, probably in response to the sounds of heavy footsteps and my sharp in-and-out breaths. **Jo! What are you doing? Go back to class!**

**Oh, so you ****_do_**** remember how to sign!** I said, waving my arms indignantly. **Well, ****_that's_**** a relief. For a while there I thought I spent that entire day tutoring you for nothing.**

Most of it went over his head, but he could tell I was angry. His eyes went from being full of rage to full of sorrow. **Jo, please don't be mad at me.**

**You've got a lot of ****_nerve_**** to say something like that. First you ****_laughed_**** at me at lunch—and now ****_this_****. You made me look like an asshole back there, D.J. You made ****_both_**** of us look like assholes.**

**_I'm_**** the asshole?** He didn't need to ask what _that_ sign meant, even if he didn't know it before; it, too, was a pretty descriptive sign. **That ****_new guy_**** is the asshole. You would have let me beat him up if you knew what he said.**

**What did he say, then?** I was getting tired of asking.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and threw back his head to stare blankly at the ceiling. **He said... He said something stupid.**

I felt my frown intensify. **What did he ****_say_****?** I repeated. **You're the only one who can tell me.** What could be 'stupid' enough to make Dajan lose control of his emotions like that?

**He said... He said that he thought you were my...**

**Your ****_what_****? Come on! Spell it, if you have to!**

**No, I know how to say it**, he insisted. **He said you look like you're my baby mama.**

Did...did I read that right? _'Baby'-'mom'? _ **Say again? **I asked, just in case. **Your ****_what_****?**

**My baby mama. Before my mom came in, he thought Iana was ****_our_**** child—because she's black like me, and deaf like you. He said, 'I feel bad for this guy. It looks like he's got some baby mama drama.'**

Oh my God. _Why_ would Armin say something like that?

That's _disgusting_.

And...weirdly cute.

Ugh, God, _why_ do I think it's cute?! It's _not_ cute.

Although... Black like Dajan... And deaf like me... Armin had a point. It was kind of an astute observation, aside from the fact that it was sick and extremely disturbing. The point was that Armin had put Dajan and me together in his mind. He thought we were a family. He thought we were _together_—or at least that we _had been_ together at some point.

**He whispered it to the girl next to him**, Dajan explained. **He thought he could say anything he wanted around you because you can't hear.**

_That_ made me mad—madder than anything Armin could have said. **Oh, but ****_you_**** can hear—so you think that makes you ****_better_**** than me? You think it's your job to listen to the horrible things people say ****_for_**** me?**

**Yes**, Dajan said confidently, obviously not picking up on my outrage and disgust. **I won't let ****_anyone_**** talk about you that way.**

… Maybe I had been too quick to dismiss Dajan after what happened at lunch. But still. I couldn't just forget about that because he caught someone saying something disgusting about me behind my back. Armin still would have said it, whether Dajan was there to hear him or not.

**I don't need you to ****_protect_**** me like a bodyguard**, I scolded him. **I need you to ****_be there_**** for me—like a friend. I thought you ****_wanted_**** to be my friend.**

**You're ****_more_**** than just my friend**, he said, bringing his hands to his chest to indicate 'my.'

I didn't think my face could get any hotter, but somehow it did. **Oh? If ****_that's_**** true, why did you ****_laugh_**** at me today at lunch? What was ****_that_**** about?**

He crumbled beneath the pressure of my intense stare, hanging his head. **It... I... I don't know how to explain it. I...didn't want to sign in front of them, because...they ****_already_**** don't like me.**

The way they all hung around together seemed to suggest that the other jocks liked him well enough, but maybe guys were different. Why did Dajan need for the other guys to 'like' him at all? And furthermore, what reason could they possibly have to _dis_like him?

**Why?** I finally asked him after a few seconds of stillness.

He didn't understand. **Why ****_what_****?**

**Why ****_everything_****! Why would signing in front of your friends make them like you less? Why ****_laugh at me_****?**

**I didn't want to laugh at you.**

**What, so they ****_made_**** you laugh at me?**

**Yeah! Sort of**, he said defensively. **They're...they're not used to it. It made them uncomfortable to see you signing.**

That was it. I was at my breaking point. **Oh, it made ****_them_**** uncomfortable? Those poor, ****_poor_**** hearing boys! **I let out a manic bray of laughter, but clenched my teeth together to stifle it. **How do you think it made ****_me_**** feel, D.J.? I am ****_completely_**** deaf. I don't have an implant I can turn on and off. It's not a ****_choice_**** for me. It's not a cool party trick I can use or not use whenever I feel like it. This is my ****_life_****, D.J.—and I thought... **I felt the anger rush out of me all at once, and it was soon replaced by the same sadness and hopelessness I'd felt when I locked myself in the bathroom. **I thought... I thought you wanted to be in my life. I thought you wanted me to come to this school with you. But when you ****_laughed_**** at me, I—**

**I was wrong**, he confessed.

I was taken aback at his sudden surrender. **I ****_know_**** you were wrong!** **You don't have to tell me that!**

**I was wrong, and I'm ****_sorry_****.**

**I...** A thousand signs swam around in my head, but I could bring none of them to life with my fingers. I stood there, stagnant, not sure of what to do or where to go from here.

Long, warm arms wrapped themselves around me. He rested his chin on the top of my head, his hands gentle on my back.

I should have smacked him, but I didn't. I let him hold me, if only for a few seconds.

He released me abruptly, as though I was scalding hot to the touch. **I'm ****_so_**** sorry, Jo. I didn't want to hurt you.**

**Well, you ****_did_****. **It suddenly felt drafty in that empty hallway. I rubbed my hands over my arms for warmth.

**What can I do?** he beseeched me.

What did he mean? What can he do...to fix this? To put things back the way they were? Nothing. Nothing can undo the damage he'd already done—not unless he could travel back in time and let me start the whole day over.

**Can I buy you food?** he suggested. **Food makes everything better.**

Food couldn't fill the void in my heart, but it would help fill the void in my stomach. I might just let him.

**I know you're hungry**, he said with a smile as he watched me think it over. **I can hear your stomach growling. I know you didn't eat anything at lunch.**

I blinked my eyes exaggeratedly. **Yeah, 'cause I was in the bathroom crying my eyes out, thanks to you!**

I meant for it to be somewhat playful, like our exchanges used to be—but it wiped the smile off his face isntantly. **Jo, I... I made you cry?**

I tried to cover my tracks, but I'd already said too much. **It wasn't just you. Today has been the worst first day of school ****_ever_****. You'd cry too.**

**Let's get out of here**, he reiterated, his eyes aglow with mischief. **I owe you lunch, at least.**

Dajan is going to have hell to pay from his mother and from the school once they learn he cut the rest of his classes today—and so will I.

Then again, I'm already going to have hell to pay for running after Dajan in the middle of class. My substitute interpreter was probably already gone, so if I went back I would have to eke through the rest of the day in silence and seclusion.

Maybe I _should_ just leave. It's what my heart (and my stomach) is telling me I should do. It's what Nathaniel wanted me to do right from the start, even though I don't think _this_ is what he had in mind.

I sighed heavily, blowing my wayward bangs out of my eyes. **Fine**, I relented, and took Dajan's outstretched hand.


	17. Chapter 17

**Reckless Abandon**

That's it. Fifth period wasn't even over yet, and I'm skipping out on my first day of school.

When it came to playing hookie, I was an expert. I knew better than to barge out into the open parking lot, where all the eyes in the school's wide-windowed classrooms could plainly see us. But apparently Dajan didn't think twice about that.

I followed behind him, all the while looking over my shoulder as he strode defiantly out onto the asphalt. (Isn't this where I'd first seen Dajan that night at the carnival? Yes, it was the same parking lot, but it was barely recognizable without the carnival's canvas tent and makeshift mirror maze.) I hoped to God we wouldn't run into Desiree and Iana on their way out — and as if by some miracle, we didn't. They must have left while Dajan and I were having our heart-to-heart discussion in the hallway.

I didn't plan on tapping into my vault of bad-girl knowhow this early in my academic career at Sweet Amoris High School. In fact, I hadn't planned on tapping into it _at all_; I honestly thought I'd turned a new leaf by coming here. Maybe that was why there was white-hot adrenaline flying through my veins, my molars gnashing and grinding, my heart fluttering madly. I cut class more times than I could count back at the School for the Deaf...but I never wanted to be that girl at Sweet Amoris.

But no, my mind was made up. No going back now. Today was the worst first day of school in history. Nothing could possibly make it any worse than it had already been — at least, that was what I told myself to make it feel less like playing hookie and more like breaking free. We weren't delinquents; we were freedom fighters.

I snatched Dajan's laminated Sweet Amoris High School parking pass from the rear-view mirror and it off and flung it into the back so that no one would see it and suspect we were high schoolers playing hookie. It landed next to Iana's empty pink booster seat.

My malaise wore off the further Dajan drove us away from the school. A few intersections later, it just felt like he was driving me around on a sleepy summer Sunday. I didn't feel twenty pairs of eyes watching every move I made — only Dajan's. I didn't feel like I was inconveniencing anyone by making them interpret for me — Dajan already understood.

It felt...nice. It was almost like having Nathaniel back.

...Almost.

**I'm ****_so_**** hungry**, I whined, exaggerating my yearning with a pouty face.

**I am, too**, he agreed one-handed. He probably only had a sugary sports drink and some candy for lunch — not nearly enough to sustain a boy of his stature. **Where do you want to go?**

**I don't know what's around here. You pick.**

I fixated on his face to read his answer, but instead his lips wound into one of his teasing little smirks, his dark brows flexing expressively. **No, ****_you_**** pick!**

My stomach twisted and churned noticeably — from hunger, I was sure...not from the way he was smiling at me. **Really, I ****_don't_**** care**, I reiterated. **I'm so hungry I'd eat ****_anything_****.**

We ended up at a drive-up fast food place not too far from the school. Dajan was able to read my finger-spelled order and relay it through the intercom box hanging from the menu placard. A college girl in short shorts and roller skates brought us our order, and Dajan paid her before I could offer to pay for my own.

**I said I owed you lunch**, he insisted.

**I thought you meant you'd ****_take_**** me to lunch, not that you'd ****_pay_**, I grumbled. It was a good thing he was being so generous...because now that I thought about it, I left my wallet and all my money in my backpack, which was back at school under my desk in Mr. Faraize's classroom.

I only had a couple bucks with me, anyway. It's not like I had anything worth stealing...except maybe my phone.

Crap, my _phone_!

… Oh well. No use worrying about it now. I washed down my apprehension with a cherry limeade and stole Dajan's fries by the handful.

**Hey!** He held the carton of fries away with his long arm — but not so far that I couldn't still reach it if I wanted to. **Get your own!**

**No, thanks! I don't even want to ****_think_**** about how much fat is in these**, I said, greedily stealing two more fries. **If I eat too many, they end up right ****_here_****.**

Dajan's eyes followed my hands as I waved them over my thighs and hips — and lingered there momentarily. While he was distracted, I used to opportunity to grab another five or six fries and stuff them into my mouth, savoring the crisp saltiness.

**Stop it!** he whined. **I don't share food!**

**I'm doing you a favor!** I argued. Judging by the number of straws and grease-spotted paper bags on the floor of his car, he indulged in fast food far too often. **If you eat too much of this crap, you'll end up ****_dying_**** of a heart attack.** I pantomimed a heart attack by clutching my chest, my eyes rolling back into my head melodramatically.

He didn't find my performance very amusing. **What?!** He drew away from me like I'd just said something horrible and unforgivable — like a racial slur or a cutthroat insult. **Why did you say that? Who told you?**

I blinked, taken aback by his sudden mood swing. I signed to him softly, slowly, trying to calm him down before the situation got out of hand. **Told me what, that fast food is bad for you? ****_Everyone_**** knows that.**

**No, I meant... Never mind.** He waved the thought away with a limp, careless hand, his eyes glaring straight ahead through the windshield.

**Oh, come on**, I jeered, nudging his shoulder. I wanted playful, smiley Dajan back — not whiny, moody Dajan. I was on my own emotional roller coaster; I didn't want to have to ride his, too. **I'm not being serious. You're seventeen years old. You won't die of a heart attack anytime soon. Besides, you work off all the calories playing basketball, don't you?**

**Yeah**, he agreed, offering a somber half-smile. **I guess you're right.**

Even when our lunch was devoured and our cherry limeades were empty, he didn't start the car or back out of the parking space, and I didn't especially want him to. All that was waiting for me when I got home was a major parental lecture, and I wasn't in any hurry to experience one of those again. I would let Dajan keep me as long as he wanted.

He chewed on his red plastic straw, every so often glancing over at me — as though making sure I was still there. **What are you doing after high school?** he finally asked, reaching out for something to talk to me about. **Do you want to go to college?**

Sure I wanted to go to college...but I always assumed I would be going to Gallaudet, the deaf college in D.C. where my parents went. But there was no way I could go back there now...especially not if _he_ was still there. **Yeah**, I said vaguely. **I think I want to be a teacher, or maybe a social worker.**

That made him smile. **A social worker? Like my mom?**

I smiled, too. **Yeah. Like your mom. She's an amazing lady. **Desiree Asad was amazing, albeit a little..._intense_. I had a feeling she wouldn't think _I_ was especially amazing after the choice I made today. **And what about you? Are you going to college?**

**Yeah**, he said, **but I don't know where yet.**

**Will you play basketball in college?**

**I ****_have_**** to play basketball in college**, he confirmed, the brightness in his eyes dimming slightly. **The only way I can go is with a basketball...grant?**

**Scholarship?** I showed him the sign slowly, then explained what it meant. **Where they give you money for tuition if you play?**

**Yeah. A scholarship.** He mimicked the sign perfectly. He really was getting better. I felt like just talking to him like this was more effective than a 'tutoring' session. This way, it was less forced.

**...Where to now?** he asked after a few sweet moments of stillness.

**Home**, I said reluctantly. There was nowhere else _to_ go, or else I would have asked him to take me there instead.

**Home**, he repeated, equally disappointed.

* * *

Mom was livid.

She held onto the edge of the kitchen counter with one hand and gripped her cane with the other, her knuckles white. She had to sit perched on a barstool to free up her hands to talk to me.

**Get over here**, she ordered. **Now.**

It was directed solely at me, but Dajan came in with me, bringing up the rear — as though waiting to catch me if I should fall.

**Where have you ****_been_****?! **Mom demanded, her arms flailing wildly. **I've sent you a ****_thousand_**** text messages!**

**My phone is at school**, I said succinctly.

**Why are ****_you_**** not at school, then, Jo? **Her back always bothered her when she was stressed. I could see the pain on her face, and I felt ashamed of myself for causing it. **What ****_happened_****? Desiree called and told me you ****_refused_**** her interpretation services and ****_dismissed_**** her for the day - and then you just ****_disappeared_****! Do you realize that if you had been gone much longer, your father and I would have had to call the ****_police_****?!**

**I-I can explain...**

Dad had to put in his two cents before he allowed me to continue. **Didn't I ****_tell_**** you this would happen?** He wasn't asking a question; he just wanted someone to tell him he'd been right all along. **A hearing school is no place for you, Jo. **His smile was meant to reassure me, but it came off as callous smugness, which made me even more upset. For the second time that day, I had to fight back the urge to cry.

Mom rolled her shoulders back in an attempt to lessen the pain, but I could tell it was no use. **Your father and I gave up our ****_jobs_**** — our ****_careers_**** — to move here with you, Jo. To give you a chance at a ****_normal_**** life. And ****_this_**** is how you repay us? By skipping school on your ****_first_**** day? I don't know what to do with you. It's like I don't even ****_know_**** you anymore.**

**Mom...** Her words hurt, but they hurt so much because they were true.

Dajan came up beside me. He'd been watching Mom's lecture from behind me. **It's my fault**, he signed to her contritely.

**What are you ****_doing_****?** I snapped at him — but his eyes were locked with Mom's.

_Dajan, this has nothing to do with you_, Mom said aloud, shaking her head dismissively. _Go home._

Dajan pressed on, signing so that I could follow what he said. **It's my fault**, he repeated. **She left because of ****_me_****. ****_I_**** was the one who started a fight, not her.**

**A ****_fight_****? Is that supposed to make me feel better?**

**Another boy in our class said something about me — something that made D.J. mad**, I explained, hoping Mom wouldn't ask what it was the boy said.

**That's no excuse**, Mom held firm. **You're not going back there, Jo.**

**Mom, please! If I go back tomorrow, it'll be different! I should have a real interpreter by then!**

**It's not her fault her interpreter didn't come today**, Dajan reminded Mom straight-faced. He signed rather than talking to her out loud, even though they were both hearing. He wanted me to know what was being said. It was quite the gentlemanly gesture; it meant more to me than his almost beating up Armin Underwood on my behalf.

Mom thought and thought, balancing on her barstool and mashing her lips together. **_One_**** more chance**, she decided, **and that's all you get. Now go home, Dajan. Your mother must be worried sick! And you, Johanna, up to your room — and stay there.**

I felt a relieved, repentant tear tickle my cheek. **Thank you, Mom**, I offered meekly.

**Thank you, Mrs. Q.**, said Dajan, mirroring my sign.

What did he have to thank my mother for? Who does Dajan think he is? First he almost gets in a fight because of me, then he buys me lunch, and now he's defending my honor against my own mother?

Honestly! It's like he thinks he's my boyfriend or something!

I had to stop and take a deep breath, blinking slowly.

Mom waved us both away tiredly as Dad encircled his arm around her shoulder for support.

**You'd better go, D.J.**, Dad urged, smiling microscopically.

Dajan and I took the out and left the kitchen, backtracking through the hallway to the foyer.

**See you tomorrow?** Dajan asked as I opened the front door for him. He held himself in a weird position, leaning forward slightly, and hunched down over me as if waiting for a hug. Or a kiss.

**See you tomorrow**, I confirmed anticlimactically, shutting the door over his smiling face, thanking him with a red-faced smile of my own.

Oh, no. You haven't won yet, Dajan Asad.

Up the carpeted stairs I trudged, one by one, until I was greeted by the welcome sight of my room. I was so worn out from all the excitement, I collapsed on my bed, still fully clothed, and fell into a fretful sleep.

It occurred to me only when I woke up several hours later, the sun long gone and the sky outside my bedroom window black and cloudless, that I never signed onto IM to talk to Nathaniel.

...Even though he said he would wait for me.

* * *

**A/N: This update comes so ridiculously late because I'm getting over the worst case of writer's block ever. Thank you so much to exactlyamanda and erinyoukai for helping me work through it. I love you girls - and all of you other readers and reviewers, too! Thank you so much for supporting me and letting me do what I love.**

**I'm OVERFLOWING with excitement right now, because in a few hours I'm leaving on a spontaneous spring break road trip to visit my best friend in the universe and all other alternate universes. She's the reason I write, and I can't even begin to describe how much it means to me that I'm going to see her!**

**Thank you again, and I promise to update again WAY sooner than last time!**

**xox binaryguppy**


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Hello MCL girls! I've missed you so much!**_

_**I have to apologize straight away for falling so far behind with reading and reviewing all of your hard work...but you understand how real life gets in the way sometimes, right? Don't worry — you'll start seeing my reviews on your older chapters over the next week, and hopefully before too long I'll be all caught up! I can't wait to dive in and see what you've come up with over the past few weeks.**_

_**Since it's been so UNGODLY long since my last update, I thought it would help if I have you a quick refresher. You can skip it if you want; it just rehashes the more important events from the last few chapters.**_

_**- Johanna is deaf. She can read lips, but relies mostly on observation to "read" people who don't use sign language.**_

_**- Nathaniel, Johanna's neighbor, left for college a few weeks ago and has since been keeping in touch with her. They flirted incessantly and made out a few times, but Nathaniel left before things could get too serious. Jo considers him to be her best friend. (Ouch! Friendzoned!)**_

**_- And then there's Dajan. Dajan's little sister is deaf, so he knows some sign language — and it's pretty clear he's crushing on Johanna _hard_. It was Dajan's suggestion that convinced Johanna to enroll at Sweet Amoris High School. He wants to get closer to Johanna, but he's hiding something, and whatever it is can only stay hidden for so long._**

_**- Johanna was supposed to have an ASL interpreter on her first day of school, but for reasons unknown, the interpreter never showed. Dajan's mother stepped in as a replacement — for a class that Johanna and Dajan have together. Just when things couldn't get any more awkward, Armin opened his mouth and said something that made Dajan angry enough to almost punch him in his dumb (albeit smokin' hot) face.**_

_**- Johanna and Dajan skipped the rest of the day, opting for a flirty fast food date instead of another three periods of agony at school. Nathaniel, meanwhile, has been waiting for Johanna to sign on to IM because she told him she was going home. Whoopsie.**_

_**This next chapter picks up when Johanna wakes up from a nap and realizes she's forgotten all about Nathaniel and her promise to talk to him when she got home.**_

_**I hope you enjoy it — but either way, I could really use your feedback. I need you to reel me back in!**_

_**Love always, binaryguppy**_

* * *

**If You Know What I Mean**

Oh, God.

What time is it? Eleven? Midnight?

What time did Nathaniel expect me to sign on this afternoon? Two? Three?

It's no use. He would have signed off a long time ago when I didn't show up. I would have texted him, but my phone was at school, still in my backpack — hopefully locked away somewhere where no one could _steal _it...

I sighed and settled back down on my pillow, trying to convince myself to go back to sleep...but it was no use. I hated waiting around not knowing one way or another how Nathaniel felt.

… I might as well sign on, just to see if he's still there.

I roused my laptop from its sleep and my dark gray room was filled with white light from the monitor. While I waited for the instant messaging program to load, I shimmied out of my restrictive jeans and brought my laptop to my bed, wrapping myself in my warm sheets.

And he was still there. His screen name was signed in.

"I hope you weren't waiting for me," I typed carefully. "I got..." Uh... What was the right word for what happened? "I got distracted," I finally sent.

The icon next to his username indicated that he was typing, and I felt my heart flutter. When I blinked I could see his own brown eyes staring back at me from under a frowning brow.

But he wasn't angry. "I've been in the dorm all day anyway. It's no big deal," read his reply. "I was kind of worried about you, though. I thought maybe Dajan Asad kidnapped you."

Hah! He had no idea just how accurate that was.

I felt my face twist into a coy smile. "Well... Funny you should mention Dajan..." I quickly explained to Nathaniel about Dajan's outburst at Armin, about his mother's haphazard placement as my substitute interpreter, and about our peaceful walk-out in protest of all the day's events.

"You skipped half a school day?" he asked, although the answer was obvious.

"Yeah. I couldn't go back, Nathaniel — not after everything that happened. I just wanted to get away." I didn't expect Mr. Student Body President to understand. He'd probably never missed a day of school in his life. Nathaniel Weiss was so straight-laced and perfect and dependable...

"Me too. I cut all my afternoon pre-law lectures."

… Wait, _what_? _Nathaniel_ skipped class today, too?

Why would he do that? Because he was waiting for me?

"Most freshmen wait until Thirsty Thursday," he elaborated, "but I guess today is Manic Monday."

"And what, pray tell, is Manic Monday?"

Rather than tell me, Nathaniel opted to show me. When he turned on his webcam, I expected to see him surrounded by darkness, like I was, like he'd been over the summer when we stayed up all those nights together — but his dorm room was far from the empty prison cell it had seemed the first time I saw it. Nathaniel personalized the walls with pennants and a bulletin board. I could see two beds now, one lofted on top of the other to make room for a cheap black futon and a floor lamp that hadn't been there before.

"Looks like you've made yourself right at home," I typed. I watched my own face smile tiredly back at me from a little box underneath Nathaniel's when I turned on my webcam, and I was suddenly abashed at my messy pillow-tousled hair. I hoped it looked nonchalant when I smoothed the stray golden-orange strands down with my hands and tossed it over my shoulder.

Nathaniel craned his neck to look over his shoulder at what I was referring to. "Most of this stuff was Haresh's idea."

"Your roommate?"

He nodded. "I'd introduce you, but he's getting acquainted with the girl from 314, if you know what I mean."

My face erupted into a watermelon smile. "Oh, I know what you mean! I hope I'm not keeping you from 'getting acquainted' with anyone..."

Hrm. I hadn't realized Nathaniel's dorm was _co-ed_...

His laugh filled his cheeks with a familiar pink glow. "I think Haresh is trying to set me up with her roommate, but she's a business major, if you know what I mean."

_Was_ I supposed to know what that meant? "I have no clue what you're talking about," I said with a fluttery roll of my eyes.

"Business majors are mentally unstable," he informed me.

"As mentally unstable as pre-law majors?" I teased him — and he smiled brighter still.

It was an immense relief to see him smile...but even so, there was something different about the way his brown eyes followed the words on the screen as he read - and about the way he rocked back in forth in his desk chair as he typed.

I soon found out why. Nathaniel brought a red Solo cup to his lips and tipped its contents into his mouth, gulping it thirstily and blinking heavily at what was undoubtedly the burn of alcohol.

A co-ed dorm...with alcohol. This was a recipe for disaster.

I kept my face in a mild smile, hoping my eyes wouldn't betray just how taken aback I was. I knew I shouldn't, but I had to ask. "What are you drinking?"

"It's Bacardi, Patrón, FourLoco, Mountain Dew, and Monster." He tipped the cup so that I could see the noxious sewer-sludge green color at the bottom. "They call it Jungle Juice."

I exaggerated retching, gagging motion, rolling my eyes back. "How can you stand to drink that stuff?"

"It's actually not bad," he countered matter-of-factly. "It goes down easier after a few drinks, if you know what I mean."

I _did_ know what he meant, actually. And that was why I was so worried. "You don't think it's a little dangerous to be drinking all that hard liquor with Monster and FourLoco? Don't those have a bunch of caffeine and stuff in them?"

"That's the nice thing about Jungle Juice. It's supposed to give you a buzz without putting you to sleep."

Nathaniel wasn't making any sense. This wasn't the sweet boy I'd met on my roof that summer morning. This was someone completely different.

I didn't like where he was going. I'd been there. I'd spent the past year of my life trying to rebuild what I'd lost from venturing down that path. I didn't want to see the same thing happen to Nathaniel.

How could I tell him that without sounding like a nagging, overprotective girlfriend?

I twiddled my long hair between my fingers, thinking carefully before typing. "Nathaniel, I didn't want to say anything before, but you look really tired. Are you sure you should be drinking that stuff?"

He blinked as he read. For a split second, the words seemed to have a sobering effect on him. "You're right, I have been tired lately..." As soon as it appeared, the lucidity in his eyes vanished and was replaced by the glazed-over look of semi-drunkenness. "But Haresh hooked me up with something I can take to help me focus. You don't have to worry about me nodding off in the middle of lectures."

I tilted my head and frowned, no longer able to hide my apprehensiveness. "You mean you're going back to class tomorrow after drinking all that?"

"Yeah! Skipping was just a one-time thing. Everyone does it at the start of football season. They're all nuts about college football up here."

His explanations were meant to assure me, but they read more like...excuses.

"As long as it's safe, then do what you need to do," I finally said, reaffirming that I trusted him. And why shouldn't I trust him? Nathaniel was a smart boy - maybe the smartest boy I knew. If anyone could handle himself at college, it was my Nathaniel. My best friend. "I know this has been hard for you," I told him, letting some of my worry spill out of my fingertips.

He swallowed, blinking more often at the strain of reading the words on the computer screen with his heavy eyes. "It's college. It's supposed to be hard. … You know something, though?" His brow screwed up in concentration, and he dove into a befuddled rant. "I knew it would be hard, but not like this. This is supposed to be one of the best law schools in the country, but coming here has been more of a test of my patience and my sanity, not my intellect."

I tried to think of something to say that would make him feel better somehow, but I had nothing to offer — and I could do nothing but watch as Nathaniel downed the entire cup of Jungle Juice. Once that one was gone, he somehow conjured three more, tipping them back and emptying them faster and faster as midnight rolled into the wee hours of the morning. It was as though that red Solo cup was magical and bottomless.

I could practically see the alcohol dissolving his inhibitions, and I couldn't help but be impressed at his drunk typing skills. He might have just been moderately tipsy before, but he was definitely drunk now — that much was clear when he got up to go use the bathroom and tripped over his own feet, falling out of frame.

"You alright?" I had to ask when he came back.

"Yeah. Why?"

Oh, Nathaniel. You might be the best friend I have, but you're the world's worst liar.

… I couldn't help myself. Maybe if I vented to Nathaniel when he was in this state, he would give me his full, unbridled opinion of Dajan Asad.

"What were we just talking about?" Nathaniel typed - and I could tell from the way his eyes moved up and down over the monitor that he was trying to scroll back up through our conversation.

"You were giving me the rundown about Sweet Amoris High School," I filled him in.

"Right. Who did you meet on your first day? Anyone I would know?"

I shook my head no. "The only ones I really talked to were the twins, Alexy and Amrin, and they're new. And Dajan. You know him already."

"Dajan doesn't count. He's an asshat."

And there you have it: Nathaniel Weiss' full, unbridled opinion of Dajan Asad.

I held a hand over my mouth to keep my laughter contained within my closed mouth. It wasn't like Nathaniel to be so adorably vulgar. ...Well, it wasn't like _sober_ Nathaniel to be so adorably vulgar. "Dajan's not an asshat, he's just..." Well? How else could I describe him without giving Nathaniel the wrong idea about how I felt about him? "I think he just comes off as an asshat because he's used to speaking his mind. He's honest. He doesn't stop to think about how what he says might hurt other people."

Nathaniel sniffed disgustedly. "Has anything he said ever hurt you?"

"Not on purpose," I conceded, "but when I was over at his house a few weeks ago, he said something that kind of upset me. He kept going on and on about how I should get a Cochlear implant...like my deafness was a problem that needed fixing."

"See? What'd I tell you? He's an asshat."

"Oh, he is not!" I said again. "I don't think he meant it to hurt me. I think he was trying to give me a compliment in his own weird way."

"How's that?"

"I've never needed to learn how to talk, but he said it would be a shame if he never heard my voice."

"But you do talk. I've heard it with my own ears."

That must have been the alcohol talking. "Bullshit!" I called him out. "I've never said so much as a word to you — or to anyone else. I don't talk. End of story."

"No, I'm being serious!" he insisted. "The morning I met you, when I was cleaning the gutters outside your window... I'd been done cleaning the gutters for, like, ten minutes, but I stayed because I heard a voice coming from the window."

… Interesting. "Oh, yeah? And what did I say?"

"Jibberish. Everyone speaks jibberish when they talk in their sleep. Even though I didn't know what you were saying, it sounded like you were arguing with someone who was making you upset."

He can't be serious. But...Nathaniel wouldn't lie to me. "I'm deaf, Nathaniel. I don't know how to talk when I'm awake! How would I know how to talk in my sleep?"

"I've read that some blind people can see images in their dreams — even colors."

He's been reading up on blindness - and perhaps on deafness, too? Why?

Curiosity got the best of me. If I was going to ask him, now was the time to do it. "Can I ask you kind of a stupid question, Nathaniel? You're the only one who can answer."

"Anything. Always. You know that."

"What does my voice sound like?" I'd always wanted to know, but of course, I could never know what anything 'sounded' like — at least not through my own ears.

Nathaniel anguished over his answer for several minutes, typing and then backspacing through what he wrote and starting over again. Maybe I shouldn't have asked him such a puzzling question. I mean, how _do_ you describe what something sounds like to someone who's never heard anything before?

Finally, he sent a concise response — and it threw me for a loop. "Your voice sounds the way a strawberry lemon shakeup tastes."

I scrunched my face into a disapproving scowl. "So sour it makes your eyes water a little?"

He shook his head, which made him dizzy; he gripped the edge of the desk to right himself again before he wrote back. "No, too sweet for me to handle. You have the sweetest voice I've ever heard, Johanna. I really miss you."

It all hit me at once. Nathaniel wasn't drinking because it was Manic Monday. He cared nothing for football and even less for pre-law lectures. But he cared for me. And so he drank — for the sake of feeling something, for the sake of filling the void.

Meanwhile, I was back in his hometown, going to his old school and flirting up a storm with the first jock that caught my eye.

I guess I would drink, too, if I was in his shoes.

"I miss you, too, Nathaniel," I told him honestly. But there was no way I could tell him about everything else I was holding inside. I had to sign off before the Jungle Juice let him say something he would regret in the morning. "I'm tired. I have school in the morning, so I really should go to bed."

I signed off before I could read his goodbye.

Alone in my dark bedroom once again, I wondered what horrors were in store for tomorrow since today had been so unforgettably awful.


End file.
